Mnhn tift ICnrratttP Cross 



An account 
of the experiences of infantry- 
men who fought under Captain Theodore 
Schoge and of their buddies of the Lorraine Cross 
Division, while serving in France during the World War 



BY 

Arthur H. Joel 

Formerly Commanding Co. "/"", 314 Inf., U. S. A. 



PI 










Copyright, 1921 
By Arthur H. Joel 



JUN 20 192! 
©CU617392 



^ 




THE LAST LAP OF THE DOUGH HOYS' TRAIL 

Behind lay the American cantonment, the Atlantic, the swamps 
of Brest and the peasant villages. Ahead were mystery, chance and 
uncanny experiences in an inferno of pyrotechnics and death. 



FOREWORD 



When an ex-doughboy talks with an over-sea buddy, or dreamily 
gazes into the smoke and flame of a fireplace, how easily he can 
recall the stirring incidents of the months or years spent in the land 
of duck-boards and fireworks. The pretty mademoiselles, glittering 
jewelry displays and beautiful fashions seen on the Paris boule- 
vards; the weird night spent on Dead Man's Hill, when the shrieking 
shells of a thousand belching cannon streamed oveihead onto Mont- 
faucon; the storming of Hill 319 the evening before the armistice; 
and the odd incidents of life in the quaint peasant villages — these 
are but a few of the things that soldiers of the Lorraine Cross, who 
fought under Captain "Pop" Schoge, can easily recall and many 
times re-live before joining the buddies "gone west" in France. 

In the story which follows it is the desire and intention of the 
author to furnish his brothers-in-arms with a brief account of the 
most eventful period in the majority of their lives; and to give to 
any others who may be interested, as clear an idea as possible of 
just what their friends or loved ones experienced, thought and felt 
while taking an active part in the big European shoot-up. The 
diary, orders, maps and other souvenirs in the writer's possession 
will form the basis of the account. If the pals and buddies of the 
old outfit approve of the work the author will feel well repaid for 
his efforts. 



CONTENTS 



I — A Secret Departure On an Unknown Voyage 7 

II — 'Schoge and His Outfit 7 

III — The Ghost of the Vaterland 9 

IV — 'Sidestepping the U-Boats 11 

V — Brest and the Second Retreat from Moscow 13 

VI — iSteers and Pack Horses 14 

VII — ^Frettes — Haute Marne 17 

VIII — "Butt Swing! Strike! Cut! " 18 

IX — The Weird Trip with the Yellow Men 21 

X — ^Bombs, Jackasses and a Gas Attack 22 

XI — The EJve of the Argonne Drive 24 

XII — "F Company, Over! Scouts Out!" 26 

XIII — Modern Battle 28 

XIV — The Glitter of Paris 32 

XV— Tilly 36 

XVI— Death Valley 38 

XVII — From Bois de Chenes to Cote Romagne 42 

XVIII — An Eleventh-Hour Armistice 44 

XIX — Doughboys in their Native Haunts 47 

XX — "Bonne Chance!" 49 



UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 



CHAPTER I. 
A Secret Departure on an Unknown \'oyage 

Our story of the big adventure of Company "F" and the other Lor- 
raine Cross crusaders begins with the fall of evening shadows over 
New York harbor, July 8, 1918. The retiring sun, pronouncing the 
close of day, left a message to the observant that the next meeting 
would be on the high seas of the Atlantic. 

At last, then, the long-dreamed-of event was really happening! 
The Leviathan, giant ship of all the seas, with about thirteen thou- 
sand soldiers aboard, v/as quiet!/ slipping anchor from its Hoboken 
pier. 

Powerful little tugs soon played a winning game of tug-of-war 
with the monstrous hulk, and shortly the ungraceful boat, under the 
power of its own throbbing engines, was drifting down East River, 
through the haze of fog and Manhattan smoke, toward the open 
ocean. 

Here were secrecy, mystery, and a real net of chance! Closed 
port holes, dimmed lights, little information as to near-future events 
and the probability that plenty of Hun sea serpents were awaiting 
this, their greatest prize — such a situation was at least promising 
to the khaki-clad American youths on their way to the land of dug- 
outs, duck boards and barbed wire. 

What a variety of experiences and adventures awaited the eager 
young huskies, the majority of whom were of that age which is well 
blessed with health, hope and confidence! Many individuals of the 
brown human background, massed between smoke stacks, lifeboats 
and cannon, still sleep beneath French soil; many are broken in 
health and spirits; and all have been changed quite radically in some 
way by the events in which destiny had decreed that they take part. 
But step by step let us trace their story of thrills, joys, disasters and 
uncanny experiences. Then we may realize that reality can easily be 
stranger than imaginative make-believe. 



CHAPTER II. 

Schoge and His Outfit 

The Company was made up of West Virginia lumberjacks, Pennsyl- 
vania coal miners, men from city slums, farm boys from Eastern 
countrysides and representatives of the majority of other typical 
classes of America. Rubbing elbows in drills and hikes, sleeping 
side by side in French peasant barns, crowding in the same "chow 
lino" three times a day, and enduring the same hardships and chanc- 
ing the same dangers of battle were classes of men who in civilian 
life had but little in common. One man had been convicted of mur- 
der and another implicated in a like crime. The Company boasted 
of several moonshiners and bootleggers, a high-school teacher, 
several college graduates, a newspaper reporter, a professional base- 
ball player, a couple of business men and at least one lunatic! The 



8 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

story of these men, if properly told, should be more humanly inter- 
esting than the average good work of fiction. 

For reasons which will become evident as our tale proceeds, a bet- 
ter acquaintance should be made with a certain individual character. 
Captain Schoge, the "C. C", or company commander, was "Pop" 
and military chief at the same time. He was somewhat of a mystery; 
yet he held the full confidence of the men, and could count on their 
obedience and loyalty at any time. 

The captain was about forty-eight years of age, of short and stocky 
build. Although German was predominant in his nationality, I doubt 
whether the captain himself was certain of his ancestry. Uneducat- 
ed except in army affairs, he spoke rather brokenly with the gram- 
matical mistakes of a child. His appearance was such that on first 
contact one would naturally class him as a "tough old bird" or a 
"hard one," and such did strangers almost invariably consider him. 

"Youse mutts—Do sumtin' anyway, — Ruslin' ain't stealin', looten- 
ant. I want you to learn that now. In the army it's what you get 
away wid, not what you do." It is no difficult matter to recall the 
incidents which occasioned the use of these expressions and other 
similar ones. 

"Annudder guy went an' hung himself," was his common remark 
at hearing of one of his men or officers getting married. 

Having served in Cuba, Mexico, the Philippines and Panama, 
most of the time as a first sergeant or "top-kicker," he was the regi- 
mental authority for old army tricks, army lore and "hard" army 
sense. He was strict, and he would likely never be requested to 
serve as a model for a bust or portrait. Yet I will wager that there 
was not a more popular captain in the regiment. And why not? 
What mattered a gruff voice and a rough appearance when a man 
had a big heart, a great fund of common sense, and an unlimited 
supply of army knowledge, and was loyal to his men and officers? 
He could command the loyalty of men as could few others in the 
division. 

Keen and sagacious as only an old army man can be, it was dif- 
ficult to "put one over" on the captain, and very few officers would 
dare to do some of the things which he did. 

Once when ordered by the colonel to guard the ficattered lumber 
at the new Camp Meade theatre he instructed the sergeant in charge 
to have one squad guard it at the point where passersby could see 
the pile, and to have the other squad "rustle" the choice planks. So 
while the sentinels under one corporal kept the men of other com- 
panies at a distance the husky lumberjacks under the other carried 
away enough lumber to supply the needs of "F" company indefinite- 
ly. 

At another time when he discovered that an inspector was examin- 
ing service records, and that several company commanders had been 
reprimanded for not having shoe sizes recorded, he immediately call- 
ed the company clerk and gave him a peremptory order something 
to this effect: 

"Fer God's sake, corporal, get those shoe sizes in quick!" 

"Sir, the men are all out to drill now and I can't get them in 
time," respectfully replied the clerk. 

"Slip any sizes in; this bird won't know the difference," came the 
quick reply. 

So each man was credited with a shoe size, big lumber-jack 
Schaffer being given size five and one-half and little Corporal Vogle 
size eleven. At random sizes were assigned to each service record 
and the captain complacently awaited the inspector. 

He was happily congratulating himself on the progress of the 
inspection when the shrewd officer discovered that the ink was 



SOHOGE AND HIS OUTFIT 9 

hardly dry on the shoe-size entries. But "Pop" was as shrewd as 
the best of array old-timers, and soon softened the ruffled feelings of 
the inspector by making good use of the discovery that both had 
fought in the same regiments in Cuba years before. 

A more intimate acquaintance will be made with this character as 
our tale is told. As the blanket of darkness falls over New York 
Harbor let us return to the crowded decks of the Leviathan and 
note what is happening there. 



CHAPTER III. 
The Ghost of the Vaterland. 

"By the deep line. By the deep line." The strong bass voice of 
the sailor throwing the sounding line repeatedly called through the 
spray to the window of the wheelman's cabin. Frequently he would 
add the number of fathoms sounded. 

From his post well forward on the gun decks, the husky "gob" 
would swing the heavy weight like a pendulum, and finally, with his 
best effort, sling it well forward into the rough sea. Expert manip- 
ulation of the rope gave the depth of water and a guide for safety. 

Until darkness and distance had obscured the Statue and maze of 
electric signs, the majority of the brown host held their positions 
on the open decks, fixing their gazes westward. Very likely they 
felt emotions similar to those of the crews of Colurabus' good ships 
Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria, four centuries previously. There was 
no information as to our destination, and the captain of the ship 
himself was certain of our course only for the time being. A warn- 
ing or guiding wireless message might change our direction radically 
at any time. So like the good ship Santa Maria, the Leviathan, Mon- 
arch of the Seas, boldly began its lonesome journey across the 
Atlantic. For protection against submarines it depended almost 
solely upon secrecy and speed. 

What an example of fate's irony! Carrying armed enemies equal 
in number to a fourth of the population of Lansing, Michigan, this 
old ocean liner, Vaterland, was now bent on aggression against its 
former owners. German signs could still be found in the state- 
rooms. 

Pew people who have never seen an ocean liner have a correct 
idea of the makeup of such a craft. The Leviathan was almost a 
thousand feet, or a sixth of a mile, long, and a hundred feet wide, 
and she sank forty-odd feet in the water. Her displacement was 
sixty-nine thousand tons, and she had forty-six water-tube boilers. 
Few harbors could dock her, and she could not go under Brooklyn 
Bridge, or enter the Panama Canal. 

Although a "gob" — sailor — might be perfectly at home in the 
floating city, it was not an infrequent occurrence for a "dough- 
boy landlubber" to completely lose himself. Then, to his inquiry as 
to direction, a friendly sailor might give him the following answer. 

"Sure, Jack, I'll tell you. Go up the ladder what's behind the 
hatch that's two compartments aft. Then go through the galley to 
F-2 6. Take the stairway to "F" deck, swing starboard and aft again, 
and you're there. It's all right. Jack. Glad to help you. No! aft is 
that way. That's a hatch there! Sure. Don't mention it Jack." 

And finally, after several more inquiries and a great deal of wan- 
dering, just when he was more puzzled than ever, a friend might 
point out his bunk section within a few rods of where he stood. 

The floating mass of wood and steel which made up the troop 
ship Leviathan was a complicated structure, to say the least. Hor- 



10 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

izontally, the ship was divided into floors or decks, designated by 
the letters from "A" to "H." Beginning with the topmost deck, 
which contained the lobby and officers' dining room, this series 
ended with the lowest troop quarters below water line. Still below 
this deck, however, were the coal bunkers, and the engine 
and stoker rooms. The troop decks were divicled into numer- 
ous compartments, or rooms, separated by water-tight doors. Locat- 
ed at various places among this maze of "decks," compartments and 
lobbies were "galleys," or kitchens, shower baths, latrines, hospital 
rooms, baggage rooms and sailors' quarters, the whole connected by 
ladders, passageways and stairways. 

The troops were quartered in the "deck compartments." Each 
soldier was entitled to the privacy of a luxuriant bed made by 
stretching heavy mess wire across a six-by-two frame of iron pipe. 
Economy of space seemed to be the prime consideration, and conse- 
quently "bunks" were arranged four deep and two wide, with just 
enough aisle space to allow two slim doughboys to pass each other. 

Life on board a troop transport was in sharp contrast to life on a 
peace-time passenger boat. With the lives of over thirteen thousand 
men to consider, and a most dangerous course to pursue, it was 
necessary to take special precautions other than the ordinary rules 
of an ocean voyage. 

Whistling was not permitted, singing after dark was forbidden, 
and a general order demanded absolute silence after "taps," or bed 
time. 

As naval men claim that it is easy to track a ship which leaves a 
trail of articles on the water, it was specially ordered that nothing 
whatsoever be thrown overboard. This offense was about as serious 
to a naval man as the smoking of a cigarette or lighting a match 
would be to a doughboy under an enemy bombing plane at the front 
on a dark night. 

At sunset the entire ship was darkened except in certain spaces 
well below decks. A special blue light circuit was then used for 
any necessary traffic or movement. 

The men were forbidden to show a light or to reflect one upon a 
polished surface, to use flashlights or matches on decks, or to 
smoke in the open night, as any of these acts might endanger not 
only their lives but those of their fellow passengers by attracting 
an awaiting submarine. 

Ship information gave the following notice: "Sea-sick cans are 
supplied and should be used for that purpose only. Men vomiting 
on deck should be made to clean it up. Men should realize it is no 
disgrace to be sea-sick and that anyone can feel it coming. It is a 
mean trick to vomit in the home of others who are all around. Use 
the sea-sick cans and keep the deck clean." 

It was a court-martial offense to carry ammunition, to open port- 
holes or water-tight doors, to smoke in quarters, to be caught away 
from your bunk without a life preserver, or to fail to report at your 
designated post when the bugler sounded the signal to abandon ship. 

For the soldier, the feeding or messing system was a simple mat- 
ter. He merely took his designated place in a certain line of men, 
and followed the snake parade until he had eaten and returned to 
his bunk. 

But to feed these thousands of men twice a day was no simple mat- 
ter. The system surely was almost an ideal of efficiency, for in the one 
troop mess hall on "F" deck, forward of the galley, this host of men 
were fed in about an hour and a half, dishes washed, finger bowls 
and napkins collected, and all meal tickets properly punched. 

The cafeteria system was used. The troops, equipped with mess 
outfits, marched by outlined routes to food-serving stations, where 



GHOST OF THE VATEiRDAND 11 

the prunes, beans and chili sauce, canned "Bill", and "Java" were 
properly mixed In mess kits as the men passed by. No seats were 
provided. Garbage was dumped in cans near the exit, and mess gear 
washed in dish-washing cans at the washing stations. There were 
naturally complaints about the "chow," for a soldier can, and 
usually does, at every opportunity, exercise his privilege of complain- 
ing about his meals. 

For several days, while the vessel was passing through the hot 
gulf stream, the lower decks were most uncomfortably hot, stuffy 
and ill smelling. Imagine if you can, the combination of closed com- 
partments and port holes, mid-July heat intensified by the warm 
ocean current, a soldier to about six square feet of floor space, and 
the majority more or less sea-sick. It was a three-day Turkish bath, 
so hot that men who lay almost naked in their bunks perspired 
freely. Many a doughboy lost his beans and macaroni, and took 
C. C. pills to help him recover his bearings. 

C. C.'s were the "pill rollers" or "medics" universal offering to 
the suffering soldier for sore throat, sore feet, earache, falling hair, 
trench feet, mal-de-mer, and flu. Some say that C. C.'s won the 
war, but the M. P.'s and Y. M. C. A. dispute the claim. 

The simple routine of treatment for an ailment was as follows: 

"Well, Corporal, what's the trouble?" the "medic" would ask at 
sick call. 

"Sir, I gotta pain in my stummick and two blisters on me foot 
what I hain't cured yet," might be his reply. 

Officer to Sergeant, "Give him some C. C's. Mark him duty and 
have him report next sick call." 

The next man might complain of toothache and another of a bad 
cold, but each in turn received several of the little white pellets. 



CHAPTBIR IV. 
Sidestepping the U-Boats 

During the four-hour watches among the bunks and sweating 
troops, one could easily see that the stuffy conditions were playing 
on the tempers of the men. Epithets of all sorts, v/ith Italian, Aus- 
trian, and mountaineer accents, as well as in good English, were 
evidence of the men's feelings. And the scores of questions asked 
about our location on the Atlantic, our probable destination, and 
about dangerous submarine zones were proof enough of their 
thoughts. 

"Submarine! Sub! See 'er over there," called an excited dough- 
boy one afternoon. 

Anxious eyes and eyes glinting with the light of excitement 
searched the calm blue stretch of mid-ocean. Pulses quickened with 
the re-appearance of the distant, white flash in the water, and those 
well forward watched the training of the big guns, and waited for 
the first shot to rock the boat. 

There followed a few moments of anxious suspense. 

"Oh! h — — 1, It's a whale spout," came the voice of a rather dis- 
appointed native of the moonshine section of West Virginia. 

This, to our knowledge, was as close as we came to open dispute 
with submarines. However, on its previous voyage, the Leviathan 
had a close call just outside of Brest, when three U-boats suddenly 
appeared between the big transport and its protecting destroyers. A 
quick fusilade of gun fire and the dropping of depth bombs ended 
what was for the moment a very dangerous situation. The gun 
crews claim that at least one of the "sousmarin's" never rose again. 



12 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

"A sub! See the periscope over there," suddenly called a dough- 
boy who had been feeding the fishes from the rail of a small Eng- 
lish "tub." 

"A dollar she hits," came a wager from a well-known crap 
shooter. 

"Two bits she don't," called another. 

The "two-bit" bet won, but only by a narrow margin. 

Such was the happening on a 28th Division boat on which a friend 
of mine made his trip. 

Until within two days of Brest harbor the Leviathan was more 
lonesome than Columbus' Santa Maria, which had the company of 
the Nina and Pinta. Secrecy, speed and expert gunners were our 
protection against subs. 

One morning we awoke to find five camouflaged destroyers — 
long, narrow, super-speedy boats, painted with varicolored diagonal 
streaks, and as graceful as canoes. From our own monster boat we 
viewed these daring craft with admiration and with about the same 
warm feeling that one has upon meeting a friend in a wilderness or 
in a strange city. 

How quickly and confidently the destroyers were on the trail with 
depth bombs ready and guns trained, whenever a whale spout, 
grocery box, empty boat or other suspicious thing loomed v\^ith;a 
telescopic view! We had good reason to be proud of our own gun- 
ners, who were the best in the Navy, but in its meaneuvering, our 
big transport was clumsy compared to our speedy protectors. A 
cast iron stomach and spike-eating ability must surely have been 
required of a man enlisting for a job on one of these supercanoes, 
especially in stormy weather. 

An open boat on the high seas usually means disaster. On the 
final lap of the journey a small life boat was passed, and later a boat 
load of naval officers was picked up — circumstantial evidence of the 
fortunes and misfortunes of a torpedoed crew. Finally, on July i't, 
the Leviathan completed the final and most dangerous lap of the 
journey — through the submarine-infested area along the rocky coast 
of Brittany, near Brest. Land was first seen in the early morn- 
ing, when a rocky island was indistinctly outlined in the dense fog. 
The destroyers accompanied the Leviathan into the long, narrow 
channel which led to the spacious harbor of Brest, and soon the 
monster ship was anchored in the quiet waters of the big Brittany 
port. 

A blue-uniformed, dapper, little port officer speeded out in Ms 
motor boat, and the lines of vision of thousands of searching eyes 
shifted and intersected as the soldiers intently gazed toward the 
foreign land where fate would decide and work out their various 
fortunes and destinies during the coming months of the big adven- 
ture. 

So, far fine! We had escaped the U-boats and the "chow" hadn't 
been bad. What was ahead mattered little. Brest from a distance 
didn't look half bad., so worries were packed in the ould 'kit bag. 
Future troubles didn't bother a soldier. We might have crossed in 
an English "tub," with tea and bully beef for "chow," and it might 
have taken two weeks instead of seven days. The worst was yet to 
come; so why remember sea-sickness, ill-smelling, hot quarters, salt- 
water baths, and restrictions of all sorts? The soldier is quick to 
adopt Mary Pickford's Pollyanna attitude when conditions are right, 
and just as ready to use Monsieur Grump's personality when things 
are a little wrong. 

Captain Jacobs of "H" company, with a Napoleonic pose greeted 
Brest as he did all new places. 

"Ah! ha! So this is Russia!" 



BREST AND 2ISrD RETREAT PROM MOSCOW 13 

CHAPTER V. 
Brest and the Second Retreat from Moscow 

Brest is a strong, French, military port on the rocky Brittany 
coast. The citadels and fortresses along the water's edge are charac- 
teristically European. These, together with the aeroplanes, sausage 
or captive balloons, and war craft of all descriptions, aroused the 
feeling that one was really beginning to see something of the big 
conflict. The spacious, well-protected harbor was an excellent 
haven in which to escape storms and enemy submarines. 

Just before the battalion left the ship several hundred French 
pallors came aboard. They were going to America to bring back a 
boat. 

"Je ne compj-ends pas, Monsieux'! Qui, oni, oui! I no under- 
stand which you have say! In zis book him is- comnie ca. Oui, 
t>ui, oui," excitedly harrangued one of the tam-o'-shantered blue- 
uniformed Frenchies. 

He was trying his level best with eyes, arms, head and voice to 
make his American brother-in-arms understand. 

The American doughboy was having as difficult a time to talk to 
Frenchie. 

"Not tees! Teeth! No, not tees. Jack! Wee, wee! Look at 
this dictionary. See, regjardez! Wee, wee, res;ardo/;! Yes! Wee! 
No!" His intentions were excellent and the book had the informa- 
tion, but his poor tongue couldn't work fast enough to say what he 
wished. 

For those who know little of the lang.ne francaise it might be well 
to explain that "wee" or oui means "yes." The French habitually 
enunciate three or four of them in a breath, and the American says 
it to keep up appearances when he can talk but little of the 
language. 

The battalion disembarked by ferry on the morning of July 18, 
with the human cargo as efficiently packed as a shipment of boxes 
or barrels. 

"Fall In!" came the first command of the captain given on French 
soil, as the company stood among the piles of boxes on the French 
docks. 

"Forward, March! Route Step! Ho-o-o!" 

The long battalion column, with an easy gait passed through the 
dirty streets and alleys near the docks, and along the winding, hilly 
road to the right of the main street of Brest. 

Marching for the first time through a foreign city was an odd ex- 
perience. Many children, wearing black cloaks, in search of "chew- 
gum" and "chocola", greeted the troops at the docks and trailed 
along with the column. 

"Hail, hail ze gang ail heeare, 
What ze ail do we ceeare — " 

Following their little song, which tickled the troops and incited 
hearty laughter, the kiddies asked for their reward, mixing broken 
English with French patois. 

"Fleece for me you haf ze gome, messtare?" called one voice. 

"Amayrican, gib for me one stick of chocola" begged another. 

Then in good French would generally follow the polite thanks — 
"Merci beaucoup, monsieur." 

They generally received a generous gift of these American tid- 
bits at Brest, for chocolate and chewing gum were not rare luxuries 
to newly arrived soldiers. 

Opinions were freely expressed as to the meaning of the signs on 
various mercantile shops. Boulangrerie, the sign of the baker, 
Aubergist, that of the Inn-keeper, Cafe or Vins, that of the wine 



14 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

seller and Chapeaux et Vetements, that of the clothing man — these 
names soon became familiar to most of the soldiers — especially those 
of cafes and wine shops. 

At the order "Fall out to the right of the road!" women venders 
of fruits and nuts peddled their wares among the resting soldiers. 
Not a few of them slyly uncovered bottles of vin rouge, vin Wane 
and cognac, at the same time carefully watching the movements of 
the officers. Here were seen the first indications of war-time im- 
morality, when girls and women came among the troops selling 
detestable post-card views. 

The rest camp of Brest was a grim joke — as the men soon found 
out to their great discomfort. On the muddy fields four miles back 
of the city, dog tents, the soldiers' portable homes, were quickly 
pitched. This was the rest camp that we had heard of. 

Seven days in stuffy ship quarters weaken the body considerably, 
and the men were in bad shape. But there was to be no rest. The 
troops must needs hike b:«ck to Brest with light packs and parade 
for Admiral de So-and-Such of the French Navy. 

Finally, in the late evening, like real doughboys, the men "hit" 
the mud for a night's rest, little dreaming how miserable would 
be the next few moves. About midnight the colonel issued orders 
to break camp immediately and prepare to march to Brest to em- 
bark by train to the interior of France. After the usual exchange 
of "Yes Sir", "No Sir", "I will Sir", and "See to it immediately. Sir", 
majors passed word to captains, they to their "loots", "loots" to the 
"shavetails", and the second "loots" by sergeants and corporals to 
the "bucks" or private soldiers. 

What an unholy mixup it was. All were tired, and many were a 
bit dizzy from their first acquaintance with French wine. Not a few 
had tried some vin blanc bought from an Auber«fiste near Pon- 
tanazon Barracks, Napoleon's old Brittany headquarters. 

The men were so weary they were loath to move at all. Many of 
them were new recruits who didn't know how to roll a pack proper- 
ly, even in daylight. The situation was disgusting to begin with, 
and soon became somewhat pitiful. It was difficult to get the sleepy 
soldiers to even realize the order, and most discouraging to help 
them collect their belongings and assemble them for the march. 
Homes, beds, wardrobes, kitchen accoutrements and household furni- 
ture must be collected by each doughboy and rolled in his poncho 
and shelter-tent half. In the darkness one could hear plenty of 
oaths and calls for assistance as exasperated individuals tried to roll 
their belongings into a muddy shelter-half with only soft mud to 
kneel in. 'IDioughboys" and "mudmuckers" were surely appropriate 
names for this branch of service! 

The battalion left hurriedly, leaving property and stragglers all 
along the road to Brest. It was no surprise to see soldiers sprawled 
in gutters or across walls, completely exhausted for a time. I won- 
dered if Napoleon had seen such sights on this same road, and could 
only label the situation the "Second Retreat from Moscow." 



CHAPTER VI. 

Steers and Pack Hoi'ses 

The dawn of July 19 found the regiment at the train in Brest, a 
hollow-eyed, dirty, low-sipirited bunch of men. Hoboes never look- 
ed worse. Only once later were they in such shape that a yeggman 
might easily be ashamed to call them equals. That was after com- 
ing out of a five-day drive in the Argonne. 



STEERS AND PACK HORSES 15 

At Brest the outfit had its first introduction to "Huit Cheveaux 
ou Quarante Homines" — ^signs printed on the cars of French troop 
trains. The English translation is "eight horses or forty men." 
That meant that each little toy box car would incite as many brays 
of insult from eight horses as it would epithets and expressions of 
disgust from forty men. In other words each box car would accom- 
modate either eight horses or forty men on the coming three-day 
live stock shipment to the interior of France. 

These little trains reminded one of the miniature toys seen in the 
store v/indows about Christmas time. They were truly funny, but 
the only thing about them that could produce a show of humor from 
the sullen soldiers was the peculiar shriek of their whistles. Their 
weak, tinny sounds reminded one of a merry-go-round siren; and 
their shrieks never failed to produce at least amused smiles or ex- 
pressions of superior contempt. 

The majority of the men had third-class cars with rough seats, but 
they were so crowded they had to take turns sleeping or lying down. 
The excursion across France in the toy train was an odd experience 
to say the least. I judge that the natives were careful to keep well 
away from the tracks when the train whistle whined its warning 
of the coming of the Yanks; for there were frequent showers of cans 
and wine bottles through windows and doors. Corporals shared up 
the bread, canned goods and beans, and French Croix Rouge — Red 
Cross — poured chicory coffee at the station stops. As a rule there 
were as many fights and squabbles over cans of jam as there ordi- 
narily are in a game of craps. Each stop meant an organized at- 
tempt to corner some wine, cognac, champagne or other concoction 
in order to kill the disgust, fatigue and monotony of the trip. The 
destination, as usual, was unknown. 

By referring to a map of France, the route of the "Tin-Whistle 
Express" can be traced to the interior of the country. The diary 
shows the route as follows: Brest, Morlaix, Guincamp, St. Brieuc, 
Montefort, Rennes, Vitre, Laval, Lemans, Chateaux du Loire, Tours, 
St. Aignan, Gievres, Bourges, Nevers, Dijon and Laignes. 

Even a rough soldier could hardly help but notice the very beau- 
tiful scenery in the chateau country along the Loire and in the 
valleys near Dijon. Ancient castles and chateaux, set on wooded 
hills bordering beautiful valleys, furnished wonderful sunset views. 

The regiment disembarked at Laignes in the Department of Cote 
d'Or before daylight on the morning of July 22. Shortly the long 
column was swinging along the crooked streets of the village, past 
the chapel, cemetery, inns and old stone dwellings of the peasants. 
As usual the destination was unknown. The men were tired and 
weary as the result of the discomforts and exposure of the ocean 
voyage, the miserable night at Brest, and the three-day ride in box 
cars. Few of the doughboys who marched to Puits that day will 
likely soon forget it — and yet it was but a typical infantry hike. 

The troops were under heavy marching order, each "buck" and 
"non-com" laden like a mountain burro, carrying a fifty-pound 
pack containing his wardrobe, bed, toilet articles, pantry and other 
necessities and accessories. The army rules governing such a mov- 
ing day require a steady march of fifty minutes, followed by a rest 
of ten minutes, when the soldiers "fall out" on the right side of the 
road. Each soldier must keep his place in ranks, and is forbidden 
to drop out except by special permission, which sometimes is quite 
difficult to obtain. 

This particular hike was a mere fifteen-mile jaunt, up hill most 
of the way, with a hot sun and plenty of dust clouds. Only stolid 
Lieut. Colonel Miers and his staff, marching at the head of the bat- 
talion, knew of the destination. Stocks jumped sky-high whenever 



16 UNDER. THE LORRAINE CROSS 

a little village appeared nestling in a valley or along a hillside, but 
curses and epithets increased in number and variety when no order 
was received to halt and adopt the town as a new home. 

Toward the end of such a march husky men would blindly stagger 
to the roadside and drop in a ditch or shady place to come along 
later as best they could. Blistered feet, weak spines, fainting spells, 
dizzy spells, and well-nigh, broken shoulder blades were but a few 
of the tortures which urged the body to give up the fight. One was 
unconscious of all else except dirt and sweat, heat, blind staggers 
and bodily ills, and won the fight only by an almost superhuman 
muster of grit and will power. 

During the last fifteen minutes of the march whole groups were 
dropping out, completely exhausted, and staggering toward the side 
of the road. 

"Fall out, unloose packs, and rest until further orders." The 
order finally came at the outskirts of Puits, a quaint Kttle town of 
Cote d'Or. 

In the village considerable difficulty was encountered in trying to 
make the bewhiskered town officials understand just what was de- 
sired. Signs and gestures aided by a knowledge of a few French 
words and expressions didn't take the place of Patois French by any 
mepns. But finally arrangements were made to adopt Puits as a 
"hangout" and the men were billetted in the barns and in vacant 
rooms of peasant dwellings. It would be difficult to decide just 
which of these places made the best place to hang up one's sombrero. 

The first day in Puits was profitably occupied in nursing blistered 
feet and sore muscles, and in currying the coats of sweat and road 
dust collected during the past week. The remaining few days were 
occupied in making the acquaintance of the peasants, in learning to 
speak their local language and in acquiring knowledge of the hidden 
mysteries of the cognac shops. 

Here in Puits an incident happened which taught some few a 
real lesson. A wealthy wine merchant invited the officers to his 
chateau for a party. The Lt. Colonel, a connoisseur of wine and 
liquor, plotted to outdrink the Frenchman, who, in turn was proud 
of his ability to handle the "fire water." After a great deal of feast- 
ing and drinking the wily Monsieur, the wine merchant, passed a 
candied honey preparation which he courteously but wisely refrain- 
ed from eating. The combination of the supersweetened honey 
with cognac, annissette, benedictine, vin roiij-e, triple sec, trois 
etoiles, eau de vie and other French concoctions which the merchant 
lavishly issued, produced quite disastrous effects in a short time. 
Reports of the guests indicated that they experienced all the sen- 
sations of acute gastritis, intoxication, delirium tremens, and St. 

Vitus dance. Next morning, Lieut. ■, sitting on a 

rock near the chateau, solemnly swore he never drank before and 
v/as "off the stuff" for life. He seemed discouraged with life as he 
sat on the bowlder meditating about the evils of liquor and the 
temptations of war. 

A couple of months' sojourn in this quiet little village with its 
quaint peasant natives — that was a happy thought indeed! Blister- 
ed feet and the hardships of the past few weeks could easily be for- 
gotten. They weren't so bad after all. 

But with the shock of a bomb shell there came a new surprise. 

"Prepare the troops for a long trip by trucks" came the concise 
order from regimental headquarters. Pleasant anticipations of 
sleep and decent food were again sent scurrying. Expressions in- 
dicated the soldiers' simple philosophy of "Oh, well what's the use?" 
(Generally another, more expressive word, was used in place of 
"well"). 



STEERS AND PACK HORSES 17 

Early next morning, on the grassy borders of a country road just 
outside Puits, lounged the thousand-odd souls that made up the 
battalion. They v^ere resignedly awaiting the coming of the trucks 
— and they continued to wait. Evening came and night passed. The 
following day was spent in searching for food and wine and loung- 
ing around the village and along the roadside. Night came again 
and with it pouring rain and the train of big army trucks. 

After passing the night hours in the cold downpour, the men and 
their packs were loaded on the trucks with less regard than is often 
given to the loading of prize live stock on a car or wagon. But then, 
men were badly needed on the firing line, and the boys up there 
had far less contorts than we. Furthermore this was far better 
than hiking on blistered feet, with heavy packs; so why worry? — 
"K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy, 
You're the only, only girl that I adore, 
W-W-When the M-M-Moon shines over the coav shed, 
I'll be waiting at the K-K-Kitchen door." 

The long trip from Cote d'Or to Haute Marne through Coulmiers- 
Le-Sec, Chattillon-Sur-'Seine and Champlitte was cold and weary, but 
not the worst by any means. 



CHAPTEiR vn. 
Frettes — Haute Marne 

Frettes, in the Department of Haute Marne, is a typical French 
peasant village. From a distance it made a very pretty view. Nest- 
ling among the green fields and beautiful wooded hills, its red-tiled 
roofs here and there shyly peeked through the foliage of giant oaks. 
Towering above this mass of color was the chapel spire, and setting 
on the highest rise of ground a chateau several centuries old. The 
scene could hardly help but please the artistic sense of even an un- 
appreciative infantryman. 

The surrounding rolling country was cut into numerous narrow 
fields, each colored according to its special crop. This odd system 
of farm division is a relic of feudal days when each retainer or peas- 
ant farmed the narrow strips of land allotted him. Prom an aero- 
plane these rural districts resembled large patch quilts, the villages 
appearing as little bunches of red yarn, the numerous light-colored 
country roads reflecting the bright summer sun, forming an intricate 
design of radiating and interesting threads. 

But for the sake of truth we must spoil the picture. These little 
villages, when viewed from their muddy, unsanitary streets and 
lanes, present a far different aspect, and quickly dampen the en- 
thusiasm of the distant observer who had taken too much for grant- 
ed. Their isolation, very poor sanitary conditions, and lack of 
amusements or attractions except cafe life and barracks entertain- 
ment, explain the average soldier's statement that he wouldn't give 
a nickel for the whole of France. Had these men had the oppor- 
tunity to visit Paris, Nice, Monte Carlo, Aix-Les-Bains, the Alps, 
Biarritz, and other centres of unequaled beauty and interest, the 
American army in France would now have some delightful memories 
to offset things they would like to forget. 

The buildings are all of stone, many centuries old. Generally in 
the same structure are included the peasant home, wagon shed, 
barn, and occasionally a rabbit pen or pig pen and a chicken house! 
And where did the soldiers live — in the homes, you think? A few 
fortunates did, but the majority called the barns or wagon sheds 
homes for many weeks, each soldier claiming enough space to make 



18 UNDER THE LiORRAINE CROSS 

up Ms bunk, and far enough from his neighbor so as not to create 
any friction in case of a false kick or arm swing in a troubled sleep. 
How pleasant this was when your neighbor was entertaining cooties 
or fleas and hadn't bathed his feet for a week! Little exertion of 
the imagination is required to picture many other similar situations. 

It is told of an American billeting officer that upon returning to 
a certain village after an absence of several months he could hardly 
recognize the place because it had been cleaned up by American 
soldiers. The old familiar dung heaps which had served as guide 
posts to cafes, boulaiigeries, patisseries or the home of a peasant 
lass, had all been removed. Consequently he had to become reac- 
quainted and never again felt at home in the place. 

The village inhabitants were a kind-hearted, long-suffering class 
of people who worked hard in the homes, public wash-houses and 
fields, and saved every possible centime and franc. During our so- 
journ we seldom saw able-bodied Frenchmen, they being on the 
firing line or already with their comrades who had "gone west." 
The old people, girls and children did all the work. Washing 
was done in a rickety public building with cold water and little or 
no soap, muscle energy taking the place of hot sods. Is it any won- 
der then that many Americans contracted French itch? 

How these millions of European peasants have worked, saved and 
suffered we lucky Americans can not appreciate. 



CHAPTER VIII 
"Butt Swing! Strike! Cut!" 

The ordinary setting of Frettes on the stage of life was that of a 
quiet little country village at peace with the world. But the world 
was now staging a production of thrill and action and not peaceful 
drama. So we find Frettes, Coulmiers-le-.Sec, Champlitte, and their 
sister villages placed in sharp contrast to their ordinary arrangement 
on the world's stage. At the time of our story these towns wore a 
decidedly military aspect with American soldiers the predominant 
figures. 

During its six weeks' sojourn in Frettes the battalion was subjected 
to a schedule of intensive training for an active part in the big game 
at the front lines. The end in view was to place the soldier in the 
best possible state of health to endure the severe hardships of life 
in trench, shell hole, and dugout; and to so train him in discipline 
and the use of all infantry weapons, that in the excitement of bat- 
tle, when men cease to be men, he would automatically or sub-con- 
sciously properly perform his duty. 

"Gather round. Oh, Gawd get a 'ustle on! You are bally slow 
this mawnin' ". 

It was the voice of the husky British bayonet sergeant down on 
the drill field, with bayonet practice in full swing. 

He would calmly advise the infantrymen to shove a bayonet only 
a "hinch" into a man's throat, two "hinches" in his kidneys, or a 
couple of "hinches" to his "art." "If you git the blade too deep in 
'is ribs, you will 'ave difficulty in gittin' it out, and the next Boche 
will git you," he repeatedly cautioned. 

And the cold fact is that a blade tangled in ribs might cost a man 
his life. 

"On guard! Long point! Butt Swing! Strike! Cut! Rest!" 

"Long thrust! Hand ahead! Pull out! On guard!" 

The series of commands came in rapid succession as your weary 
arms swung, cut, and thrust with the heavy rifle and bayonet. 



"BUTT SWING! STRIKE! CUT!" 19 

"High port! Charge!" This command always resulted In quick 
action. 

To see the long line of doughboys bearing down the field with 
shining bayonets at "Port" and then at "Charge", yelling as they 
came, one would judge them to be really blood-thirsty. And such is 
the intended effect upon an enemy, — the charge and yell lessen an 
opponent's nvvxc. 

"Gas! Gas!" 

At any time at drill one could expect the practice warning. May- 
be it would come during a formal drill. Then helmets were dumped, 
guns dropped between legs, and the mask dug out of its case as 
quickly as possible. How pleasant it was to wear them a half hour 
or more^ while drilling, resting or running, until the gill valves 
would make noises like bellowing cattle. 

An observer on Frettes drill field any week day might see all 
sorts of maneuvers and war antics. To start the day there would 
be close order drill. This is the formal drill at strict attention main- 
ly for disciplinary purposes. It is an inspiring sight — when out of 
the ranks — to watch platoons and companies marching in step, heads 
up, rifles at proper angles, the whole command moving and perform- 
ing as one man, according to the orders of the officer or sergeant in 
charge. 

"Company! Tension! Forward! Ho — ! One! Two! Three! 
Four! One ! Two! Three! Four!" 

"Squads Right About! Yo! Left! Right! Down with that gun! 

One! Two! Three! Four! Private , eyes ahead and 

your mouth shut, you're at attention! €ompan-n-n-n-y! Halt! 
Rest!" 

This is just the mixture of commands and "close order" jargon 
one can hear from most any drilling officer. 

A casual civilian passerby on the hills above Frettes would on 
several occasions have seen some wild scenes. Toward the end of 
the training period six or eight non-commissioned officers and a 
"shave-tail" would load up with bombs, rifle grenades and pistol 
ammunition which was left over, and celebrate on the grenade 
range north of the village, several evenings each week. 

When the soldiers were ready and eagerly waiting, the "shavetail" 
called his commands. "Line up! Ready! Pull Rings and Fire!" 

The line quickly ducked behind the stone rampart, and the ex- 
plosion of forty or more bombs in quick succession made plenty of 
racket and threw enough dirt and bomb fragments to give a real, 
front line effect. 

I dare say that the pleasantest part of the training schedule was 
the short hikes over beautiful French countrysides. Forgetting the 
more serious phases of war, the company spent m.any a pleasant 
morning along country roads leading to innumerable beautiful, land- 
scape views. 

Quaint little peasant towns, hiding in valleys and behind the hills; 
chateaux on the summits of low wooded bluffs; road chapels and an 
occasional small cathedral — these and numerous other interesting 
scenes would come to view as the brown column curved round a 
woods, went over a hilltop, or followed a valley. 

As enjoyable as the scenery were the pleasantries, songs and ban- 
ter. In such a collection of men as made up the organization of most 
branches of our army, there was considerable good vocal talent and 
some rare wit. Until the hikers began to become tired or weary 
there was usually a steady run of songs, jokes and quips of great 
variety, 

"Oh! I want to go home, 
Oh! I want to go home, 



20 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

The bullets they whistle, 
The cannons they roar, 

I don't want to go to the trenches no more. 
Take me back o'er the sea. 
Where the 'Dutchmen they can't get at me, 
Oh my! I'm too young to die. 
Oh! I want to go home." 
Then in chorus would generally follow: 

"Some day I'm going to murder the bugler. 
Some day they're going to find him dead, 
We'll amputate his reveill-i, and stamp upon it heavily, 
And spend the rest of our days in bed." 
An ex-sailor frequently sang a ditty that began like this: 
"Oh! I'm Loco, oh I'm Loco in the cocoa, 
Tilly-oco-Tilly-oco-" 
Amost invariably opinions were freely expressed about the "can- 
ned willy", "horse meat", "slum", "chopped hay", "Java", 
"punk", baked beans and other common items of the "chow" wagon. 
And as favorite a pastime was that of spreading all sorts of rumors. 
It might be that we were going to Italy or that the Allies had sud- 
denly captured Berlin. According to these reports the Kaiser was 
killed at least a score of times, the war ended about twice as often, 
and we were due to leave for the front "next day sure" at least twice 
between reveille and taps each twenty-four hours. It was a common 
belief that the United States Army possessed a most deadly gas that 
could wipe out the enemy forces in a very short time. Not a few 
constantly awaited reports that these deadly fumes had destroyed 
the whole German Army. 

As the soldiers gradually became fatigued the exchange of banter 
lessened and usually ceased. From then on until the return to quar- 
ters the column marched silently, each man busy with his own 
thoughts. 

There was but little amusement in these training areas to break 
the monotony of drill. Occasionally the battalion would organize 
a little show or a Y. M. C. A. troop would entertain. The evenings 
were spent lounging in quarters, in the cafes, sipping wine or beer, 
and in the "canteen" or battalion store. There were no doubt many 
private vin rouge parties and some real exciting sessions of craps 

But the greater number of monotonous evenings were spent in 
billets, lounging, arguing and telling stories and rumors. 

Finally on September 6 orders were received to prepare for the 
next move. There was but one place to go, if we were to follow the 
customary schedule — and that was to the front, the area of fight 
and fireworks! 

The morning of September 7 was announced with the usual re- 
veille bugle call which still seemed to sing 

"I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up, 
I can't get 'em up in the morning; 
Privates worse than Corporals; 
Corporals worse than Sergeants; 
Sergeants worse than Lieutenants; 
And the Captain's the worst of all." 
During the day there was the customary clatter of wooden shoes 
of peasants trodding the village streets, the familiar ringing of the 
chapel bell, and the usual "barks of dogs and mews of stray cats. But 
the absence of other familiar sounds was noticeable. The rifle range 
was silent, and one could not hear the fusilades of grenades, auto- 
matics and bombs. It was a day of quiet preparation for the big 
coming event. 



"BUTT SWING! STRIKE! CUT!" 21 

At "Retreat" formation, after roll call, and salute to "The Colors" 
a few orders were given relative to the departure next morning. 
After supper the men for the last time observed the homely little in- 
cident of the aged and bewhiskered little peasant sheep-herder driv- 
ing his flock through the village streets, repeatedly blowing the 
sheep horn that appeared to be at least as ancient as himself. 

"Taps" finally marked the close of six weeks ot life which we 
soon came to regard as so many weeks of comfort instead of as a 
monotonous period of training. 

The bugle this time seemed to chant a different message. 
"When your last 
Day is past, 
From afar 
Some bright star, 
O'er your grave. 
Watch will keep. 
While you sleep 
With the brave." 



CHAPTER IX 
The Weirtl Trip with the Yellow Men 

Early morning of September 8 found the battalion lined up in 
village ready to leave for the front. 

"Au Revcir!" 

"Bon Voyage!" 

"Bonne Chance!" 

"Vive les Americains ! " 

Such were the passing remarks of peasant friends as the khaki- 
clad column trailed out of Frettes and took up its march over the 
dusty road to LaFerte railroad station. 

At LaFerte the men were again loaded in livestock fashion, about 
thirty or forty to a little box car. This time the train also carried 
horses, kitchens, one-pounders, machine guns, trench mortars, am- 
munition and other supplies and equipment for combat service. The 
battalion left La Ferte the same evening, the shrill train whistle 
sounding more tinny than ever. 

The following day the outfit arrived at Fains 'a Meuse near Bar- 
le-Duc, on the main road from Chalons-sur-Marne to Verdun. Here 
all clothing, baggage and equipment not needed at the front were 
stored — only to be looted before our return several months later. 
This stripping of the division for action and the final weeding-out 
of men unfit for battle was indicative of big near-future events. 

At Fains the outfit was privileged to see something that is still a 
rare sight. This was a fleet of at least a hundred aeroplanes, in 
flying-duck formations, on their way to take part in the St. Mihiel 
drive. One seldom sees such a bevy of birds or hears the combined 
whir of so many powerful motors. 

The departure from the world of calm and the trip to the inferno 
of pyrotechnics and death were weird events. The fall of darkness 
over the Department of Meuse found the Lorraine Cross Division 
assembled on the darkened streets of several villages, awaiting 
orders to board the French troop trucks, crowding the streets and 
lanes. Here and there in front of cafes and confectionery shops were 
little groups of slouchy yellow men, babbling in their peculiar gut- 
tural tongue. These Chinamen were hired by the French govern- 
ment to drive troops over the Sacred Road to the battle lines east 
and west of the Meuse River. 



22 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

Shortly after dusk the doughboys were loaded into the rickety 
conveyances, about twenty-five soldiers with their packs and weapons 
in each bus. Comfort was of secondary importance, the shipment 
being packed according to the latest standards of loading efficiency. 

Stuffy boat decks were not half bad after all! Neither were the 
dirty French box cars! Such was the natural trend of thought of 
many a youth in the trucks, as he squirmed and twisted his body to 
free a leg or arm, or to relieve a cramp. Later, even these jouncy old 
"boats" would have been a gift of the gods. But step by step the 
soldiers became hardened to new physical demands until they tend- 
ed to become animal-like in endurance. 

For hours the trucks rumbled over rough roads and through dark- 
ened villages, passing French sentries and military police at various 
points. To only the officers in charge of trucks, sitting beside the 
Chinese drivers, were the numerous, strange, new bigns and objects 
visible; for the trucks were covered like old American stage coaches, 
shutting off the view of tue doughboys inside. 

The mystery and weirdness of the night ride reached their climax 
with the appearance, one at a time, of the various signs of frontline 
activity. The first hazy flashes could easily have been mistaken for 
heat lightning, and the low rumbles for distant thunder. But, as 
the flashes increased in number and intensity, and the thunder-like 
noises became sharper and more frequent, their origin was unmis- 
takable. 

About the same time one could hardly help but notice the bright 
beams of powerful searchlights piercing the darkness of the starless 
night. One or more of these would suddenly appear, cut across the 
inky darkness a few times, and then as suddenly die out. 

Finally arriving within a few miles of the trenches, the effects of 
star shells and flares of odd designs made the nighi almost enchant- 
ing. Of greatest frequency were the signals of stars. One would 
suddenly shoot toward the sky, and four others follow at about 
equal distances, the fire gradually dying out as they fell. 

All these, together with rockets and other explosive fireworks of 
various colors and designs, could always be seen in the battle areas 
from dusk to dawn, and occasionally in daylight. 

The truck train finally rumbled over the cobbled streets of the 
deserted, shell-torn village of Dambasle, and stopped along the nar- 
row, rough road beyond. This was about 3:00 a. m. There were no 
definite orders except one passed along the line to debark. In the 
darkness and confusion it was difficult to assemble the men in their 
proper organizations. A few spent the remainder of the dark hours 
sleeping on the hard benches of a little chapel back in Dambasle. 
Most of the battalion, however, went to Brocourt woods, back of 
Recicourt, the neighboring village. 



CHAPTER X 
Bombs, Jackasses and a Gas Attack 

A little less than two months had elapsed since the company had 
stepped off the transport at Brest. The night previous they had left 
the rickety trucks and their Chinese drivers on the road between 
Dambasle and Recicourt. What next? Where bound? What use- 
less questions they were! 

It seemed to be a new world that we were now in. 

For a couple of days the regiment rested in the dirty shacks and 
damp dug-outs of muddy Brooourt woods. A brigade of negro 
troops had left just previous to our arrival, and judging from con- 



BOMBS, JACKASSES, GAS ATTACK 23 

ditions, they had not been careful about sanitation. The place was 
in a filthy state. 

During the two weeks following the beginning of the wild-boar 
life in the Brocourt woods, several exciting events served to break 
the monotony of the period of watchful waiting. 

Two sausage balloons, anchored above Bois de Brocourt, were the 
center of interest the first day. At frequent and quite regular in- 
tervals Fritz would "strafe" them with fusilades of anti-aircraft 
shells. As the explosives broke around the big "sausages", one 
awaited the explosion or collapse of the huge gas bags. But the bar- 
rage never seemed to do any harm, the only visible result being the 
scores of big puffs of smoke around the balloons. 

Finally, late in the afternoon, a German plane suddenly appeared 
— seemingly from nowhere, — encircled the balloons several times, 
and sent them both flaming to earth, by piercing the bags with in- 
cendiary bullets. The French observers were lucky enough to land 
safelv in their parachutes. 

"Sh-Swish, Sh-Swish!" 

For the first time was heard the peculiar whistle of shells on their 
course, far over head. These few peace notes apparently fell harm- 
lessly far beyond. But the shells which bombared Recicourt, our 
Division Headquarters, did more damage. If reports be true, there 
was a hasty and rather undignified stampede of generals, colonels 
and aids. Rumor has it that a perfectly good dinner was abandoned 
when a shell addressed to the headquarters' mess was properly de- 
livered. It was a shame to leave such good "chuck" and vin, but shell 
music is not as pleasant as a jazz orchestra, especially at meal time. 

The usual parting regrets were not expressed when the doughboys 
left the mud and filth of Bois de Brocourt. Any place should be 
an improvement. From this time on all hikes at or near the front 
were at night, special care being taken to keep our presence and 
movements entirely unknown to Fritz. Something big was soon to 
occur, but what it was we were not to know until suddenlj plunged 
into it a fortnight later. The next stop of the gypsies wa^ at Bois 
de Recicourt. 

The wooded and bushy slope of this hill, with its climbing vines 
and winding paths could easily have been Shakespeare's Forest of 
Arden. But the hewn-stone bomb-shelters and musty dugouts 
spoiled the little fantasy. Here occurred an incident involving aerial 
bombs and jackasses that promised to be serious, but took a humor- 
ous turn and ended as one of war's jokes. It happened on a bright, 
starry night, the ideal time for the operation of bombing planes. 
About nine o'clock one could easily hear the unmistakable whir of 
a Hun plane. 

"Throw sumtin' down an' see what you cin hit. Do sumtin', 
Fritz." 

It was the voice of Captain Schoge, the odd character described 
in the beginning of this account. We were sitting in front of the 
opening in his damp dugout, and wanted to see something happen. 

"Come on, Fritz, where — ". He never finished the challenge. 
Crash! Bang! The hill rocked with the explosions. Several more 
of the Rhineland love-messages were duly delivered with typical 
German regularity. Between explosions we could hear scurrying 
feet carrying anxious doughboys to bomb proofs and dugouts. Ac- 
cording to the non-coms' reports the following day, it was a wild 
stampede. 

At this point the affair took a humorous turn. About a dozen 
jackasses, stabled in a shed down the slope, gave a chorus of brays 
and "hee-haws" in jackass key and with good donkey harmony. The 
little beasts were used by French soldiers to carry supplies up the 



24 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

rough and hilly trails. Several times since our arrival they had 
favored us with their peculiar chorus. 

Here was excitement aplenty, with a Forest of Arden setting, and 
ushered in by the brays of "jacks." The bombs had fallen half a 
mile or more away; it was an attempt to destroy the railhead at Cam- 
basle. But judging from the intensity of the explosions, we natur- 
ally concluded that they had fallen in our little woods. 

The next stop, a few days later, was Bois de Hesse, close to the 
first lines of the trench system. Here occurred an incident as hu 
morous as the one in Recicourt. This is a story of a gas attack, a 
lost mask, and a bunch of laughing Frenchmen. 

The regiment was sleeping under the trees along the narrow gauge 
track in Hesse woods. Some had pitched their dog tents while 
others had merely rolled up in their blankets and coats. We had 
arrived about eleven P. M. and knew little of the location. 

The colonel had given orders for the men to sleep with gas masks, 
"alert" or ready to don tiiom as quickly as possible. This order, to- 
gether with the mystery of the situation and the occasional shriek 
of a big shell passing overhead, aroused feelings of nervous expecta- 
tion. 

About midnight there was a sudden confusion of sounds and 
events that quickly changed many a pleasant dream to a night- 
mare of reality. The shouts of "Gas! Gas!", the bellowins; 
and screeching of gas horns and clarions, and the fusilades of rifle 
fire could mean but one thing — a gas attack. There were few that 
night who failed to make record speed in donning their masks. 

But one poor fellow had lost his and was shaking hands and bid- 
ding good-bye to his pals, his imagination probably already causing 
him to feel suffocated with the deadly fumes. 

"'Climb a tree. Jack, the gas stays close to the ground," called 
some cool doughboy, as he jerked out his mouth-piece and quickly 
returned it. 

Needless to state, Jack was among the higher branches in close 
communion with the stars in short order. 

After what seemed an age the gas officer shouted the order, 
"Masks off! No gas!" He had tested the air and found nothing at 
all suspicious. It was a false alarm that had been started near Dam- 
basle and spread for miles along the line of waiting troops. 

Jack then sheepishly slid to the ground, well satisfied with the 
turn of events. 

Over on the main road French artillerymen were doubling with 
laughter at the antics of the crazy Yanks. 



CHAPTER XI 
The Eve of the Argoime Battle. 

At the last officer's call in Foret de Hesse came the first news of 
the coming Argonne drive. The regiment's mission was to take over 
the front line at Dead Man's Hill, and in the big drive, to capture 
Avocourt, Malancourt, Cuizy, Sepstarges, Montfaucon and Nantillois 
beyond. 

The colonel, with his usual serious mien, talked like a strict fa- 
ther to the semicircle of lieutenants, captains and majors collected 
in front of his dug-out in the woods. It was the last meeting of 
314th officers before going over the top, and they knew that a few 
at least would be missing before the next summons to regimental 
headquarters. 

The younger officers tried to plague each other. 



EVE OP THE ARGONNE BATTLE 25 

"I'll appropriate your cigarettes and dog biscuit tomorrow, when 

you're yelling for Peter at the gates," called Lieutenant 

an eastern football star, to Lieutenant ■, an "E" 

Company platoon commander. 

"Say, whop, you're mistaken. I'll be taking that five bucks you 
owe me from the last poker game, when you're with your monkey 
ancestors," came the quick answer. 

Happy-go-lucky, dare-devil young fellows like these, both of the 
ranks and commissioned, were the backbone of the American Army. 
A man between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five apparently has 
less fear for his life than an older person. 

On the evening of September 25 an officer and four scouts from 
each company were sent to the front lines to locate platoon positions 
among the battered trenches, shell craters, and masses of rusted 
wire on desolate Dead Man's Hill. The pitch black night and the 
necessity for silence made this a very difficult and "spooky" mission. 
Towards midnight these same guides met their platoons at the regi- 
mental dug-out and guided them single file to their respective areas 
of holes, ditches, barbed wire and mud, there to av/ait the approach 
of their first zero hour. The troops were fully prepared for battle — 
more or less a matter of increasing their supply of ammunition and 
lessening the amount of clothing, bedding and other such luxuries of 
the march. Each soldier carried his rifle, at least two hundred 
rounds of rifle ammunition, bombs, emergency rations, raincoat and 
overcoat, a canteen of water, and any extra firearms he might be 
using. With these he was ready to go over the top from Dead Man's 
Hill and trust to God for food, water and luck for an uncertain 
length of time. 

This same spot had been the scene of wholesale slaughter in 1916, 
in the Second Battle of Verdun, when the German hordes tried to 
take that city. The country was an area of desolation as far as the 
eye could see on a clear day. Trees were full of lead, dug-outs were 
caved in, and if current reports be true, the intense shell fire had 
lowered the height of the hill about two feet. The division's mission 
this first time over the top was to capture the territory thus far held 
by the Germ:ans against all attacks. Montfaucon, the city on the 
high point across the broad desolate valley, was the main objective. 
The Germans called it Little Gibraltar, and boasted that it was im- 
pregnable. It had been the Crown Prince's headquarters in the 
second battle of Verdun. 

Sometime after midnight, shortly after the moonlight had broken 
through the screen of dense, black clouds, cannon of all sizes began 
belching a steady stream, of high explosives and gas shells, the dead- 
ly messengers of destruction flying over the heads of the waiting 
troops and falling somewhere on the enemy position. Tons and 
tons of steel shrieked and whistled, each type of missile sounding 
its weird warning of destruction and death. Accompanying the roars 
and shrieks were intermittent flashes of the guns lighting the 
horizon as far as the eye could see. At the same time, over toward 
Montfaucon, one could see the flashes of exploding shells doing their 
deadly work of destroying barbed-wire entanglements, trenches and 
dug-outs, as well as the city of Montfaucon. Now and then a shell 
from an enemy counter battery exploded somewhere on Dead Man's 
Hill, adding to the clamor and thrill of the weird night. 

One who has not actually experienced the infernal, yet wonderful 
babble of noises and weird lightning-like flashes that accompany 
such a barrage as prepared the Argonne advance, cannot begin to 
imagine the emotions one feels on such an occasion. With belching 
cannon behind, tons of explosive flying over head, innumerable 
shells bursting on enemy territory beyond, and the time of the jump- 



26 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

off approaching with the daylight, one could only wonder and try 
to feel a little more significant. 

From 6:00 to 6:30 a. m. scouts crawled out with wire cutters, 
and opened passage-ways in belts of barbed wire. During the same 
half hour a dense smoke screen was placed ahead by a gas regiment 
in the rear, in order to conceal all movements. 

The outfit was ready to go over the top of trenches and shell holes 
at the command of its officers at exactly 6:30 a. m. 



CHAPTER XII 
"F Company, Over! Scoaits Out." 

This chapter of the account, telling of the fighting of Company 
"F", 314 Infantry, in the woods and swamps of the Argonne battle, 
is probably quite typical of the experiences of the many thousands 
of other Americans in the same great struggle. Analyzing his own 
mental state the author will try to show just what were the feelings 
and emotions of a human being during the varied stages of such an 
uncanny ordeal. 

Directly following the account, to lighten depressed feelings we 
will take an imaginative trip to the boulevards and palace-gardens 
of beautiful and gay Paris, the queen of all cities. But, for the 
present, let us advance with the waves of infantry and see the at- 
tack through. 

Zero hour and the big gamble of life that was to follow were but 
a few minutes distant. The jumping-off position on Dead Man's 
Hill, northwest of Verdun, at that moment presented a situation 
strange indeed to the normal trend of natural events. 

Through the screen of fog and smoke, pungent with the strong 
odor of various explosives, one could indistinctly v-^utline groups of 
American infantrymen. Standing in shell holes and trench ruins, 
they were awaiting the signal to advance through the barbed wire 
and face whatever destiny held in store for them in the haze ahead. 

"F Company, Over!" 

"Third Platoon, advance! Combat groups about thirty paces. 
Scouts Out." 

These and other orders and directions were given at 6:30 a. m.. 
September 26, and the company began its part in one of America's 
greatest battles. 

The area of bursting shells of the creeping barrage advanced ahead 
of the trooips at about their own rate of speed. These were fired 
overhead by guns of all calibres directly behind. 

The "waves" and groups advanced at about an ordinary pace. At 
first the platoons were under good control, but in a very short time 
squads and files were separated in the fog and smoke. From then 
on organizations were completely broken up and new ones formed 
groups. 

The path of the drive led over desolate country completely cut 
up with shell holes, mine craters and trench systems. Early in the 
advance it was necessary to go through a swamp, waist deep, near 
the outskirts of Malancourt, the first objective. 

Pop! Pop! Pop! Tzing! Tzing! 

The singing, cracking and whining of machine gun bullets was 
good evidence that at least a few Prussians had survived the in- 
tense hurricane of high explosive and gas shells of the previous 
night's barrage. But for several hours very little strong resistance 
was encountered, Fritz having retreated to new lines of resistance. 



"F COMPANY OVER, SCOUTS OUT" 27 

lAbout ten a. m., as the fog began to clear, the advance of several 
groups was held up by a machine gun on the opposite side of a shal- 
low valley. But after a little resistance the gun crew surrendered — 
the first prisoners. These men were middle-aged, dirty, miserably 
dressed and apparently glad to be alive no matter what the cost. 

A little later a score or more of the enemy were captured and 
sent to the rear under guard. An incident happened at the time 
which goes to show that the "Kamerad" act didn't always save the 
Hun. A lieutenant ordered a private to conduct two husky prisoners 
to certain officers in the rear. Within an incredibly short time the 
little Italian reported back. 

"What did you do with the prisoners?" demanded the lieutenant. 

"I tended to them, Sir" he answered. His sheepish glance told 
better than words what had happened. Such occurrences were not 
uncommon on either side. 

By mid-day the fog had all cleared. As the battle increased in 
intensity, glances to right and left over the rolling farm country 
gave the observer an appreciation of the bigness of a modern battle. 
The general plan of infantry attack was to advance in thin lines 
following each other at varying intervals. A distant view showed 
the series of human waves going forward in the tide of attack, gain- 
ing in one place and held up in another, according to the fortunes of 
battle. Ordinarily there were numerous high-explosive shells burst- 
ing in the lines and shrapnel overhead, but thus far Fritz's artillery 
was not in an effective position after its hasty retrent. 

In the early afternoon the real battle began. Thus far there had 
been a great deal of excitement, plenty of prisoners, but few casual- 
ties. Surely reports had exaggerated real conditions at the front, 
one naturally concluded — until the troops suddenly met the stone- 
wall resistance of the concealed German machine gun defense! The 
Huns had fallen back of necessity, but had organized a new line 
through and in front of Montfaucon, the lookout city which they 
called Little Gibraltar. According to their boast the place was im- 
pregnable. 

Contact was made by a combat patrol. A lieutenant. Sergeant 
McCawley and four men had advanced through a network of barbed 
wire defenses to the crest of a low hill. They were just clearing 
the knoll in skirmish formation when fired upon by an automatic 
rifle in a clump of bushes ahead. Sergeant McCawley and his gun- 
ner Jones, over on the right flank, immediately returned the fire. 
Champa, and Calabretta on the left quickly followed suit. 

Then, as if by prearranged signal, enemy machine guns, automat- 
ics and snipers located in trees, gullies, and bushes ahead and on 
the flanks opened with a hot fusilade which filled the air with snaps, 
cracks, and whines of flying lead. Cut weeds, flying gravel and the 
harsh cracks of the bullets were proof enough that the patrol had 
located the resistance^ — and were in a bad trap. 

The mission of the patrol had been accomplished — that of locat- 
ing and testing the strength of the enemy even if it was necessary 
to sacrifice itself. It was the moment of every man for himself as 
best he could. Whether or not McCawley and Jones heard the re- 
peated orders to take cover in a low bushy spot to their right will 
never be known. McCawley was shot through the head while oper- 
ating his gun and died with a smile. Jones and Champa were hit in 
the legs and Calabretta mortally wounded in the stomach. 

The officer had only his revolver and two bombs as weapons — • 
useless luggage in this situation. By crawling and wriggling witla 
his nose in the ground, he finally managed to roll into a shell hole, 
wondering in a dazed way why the "lights hadn't gone out." When 
the helmet rings with the cracks of "close ones" and bits of flying 



28 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

gravel play a tattoo, one just naturally feels weak in the stomach 
and expects everything to suddenly turn black. 

For hours German snipers, machine gunners and automatic rifle- 
men, organized strongly in depth, and well concealed, swept the area 
with a steady sheet of fire. Heinie saw to it that the Yanks con- 
tinued to hug the ground most of the afternoon. 

At least five lieutenants and captains of the battalion were shot 
down in an hour's time, the losses being heavier that first afternoon 
than any other time in the drive. Not a few miracles and almost 
unbelievable, narrow calls happened that day. 

First Sergeant Joe Cable, the big Texan, forced out of one shell 
hole by dangerous fire, made a run for another. A bullet hit the 
whistle in the breast pocket over h's heart, and then spoiled a little 
French book underneath. The v/histle was flattened and the book 
shredded, but the sergeant was barely bruised. Another bullet took 
off the heel of his shoe, and a third cut him across the toes, after 
which he secured protection in a deep shell hole and nursed his foot. 
Joe is today gambling on Texas oil. 

Sergeant Fenstermacher had his skull bone scraped by one of the 
sniper's messengers, but is still very much alive. 

Corporal Wargo's pack was riddled with machine gun bullets as he 
dug his nose into the soft mud of a shell hole, but he himself escaped 
with a whole hide. 

A piece of flying shrapnel ripped the shoulder of Sergeant Brun- 
stetter's heavy overcoat — and spent itself. 

Others, not so fortunate, paid war's penalty by giving their lives 
or being severely wounded. 

Lieutenant Rebuck stopped an explosive bullet with one of his 
wrists and still has a stiff forearm. 

The battalion gas officer was made a casualty by the very thing 
he had trained himself to combat. McCawley, Gilbert, Jones, 
Schuler, Shade and Weber "went west" like real men, either this 
day or the following, and at least fifteen others were wounded. 

Most any man in the company could tell of narrow calls that first 
afternoon. 

The battalion was reorganized in the evening, on the flank of the 
Hun defense. At dusk the companies started ahead in combat 
formation. The first lieutenant had been in command just previous 
to the advance, but at the order from Major Caldwell for "F" Com- 
pany to go ahead, he was not present. The captain had been separ- 
ated with a detachment early in the day. This left the company in 
command of the "rankest shavetail", the only remaining officer. 

This first day of the Argonne ended with not a few comrades ab- 
sent. Many lessons had been learned but the price paid was dear 
enough. 



CHAPTER XIII 
Modem Battle 

Before daylight on the morning of September 27, the battalion ad- 
vanced directly through the German strong position of the previous 
day. The Huns had fallen back to a new line of defense in the hills 
and woods ahead. The company was under the temporary command 

of Captain , 1st Battalion. It took up a position 

in a trench skirting a woods that was strongly defended by enemy 
snipers and machine gunners. 

The position held for several hours in this winding trench was 
most miserable. There was a steady cold dizzle of rain and inter- 



MODERN BATTLE 29 

mittent sweeps of enemy sniper fire. In walking rlong the trench 
it was necessary to step over or walk on the bodies of numerous 
wearers of the greenish-gray German uniform, with here and there 
an occasional American doughboy. 

In this same trench the author witnessed one of those battle 
sights which leave an Indelible impression upon a soldier's mind. 
It was the expression on the upturned face of a young German, about 
sixteen years of age — an expression with something of the puzzle of 
DeVinci's Mona Lisa. The innocent, child-like, questioning wonder- 
ment seemed to indicate that he had left this life puzzled as to what 
it was all about. 

As the position in the woods was so strong that a whole battalion 
was unable to capture it, the company flanked it and moved to the 
regimental position where we met our old captain and prepared 
for the biggest fight yet. 

The 314th regiment lined up in battle formation on the reverse 
slope of a big hill to the right of Montfaucon, to take part in the 
b'g flnnking movement, while the 313th Regiment made a direct at- 
tack on the city itself. Scores r.f French tanks took positions near 
the crest of the hill, while in 'lodern battle array followed twelve 
companies of infantry, a machine gun company, trench mortar and 
one-pounder platoons, first aid men and regimental and battalion 
staffs. 

Just before starting ahead Sergeant Connelly, one of the best 
bayonet men in the regiment, shook the "shavetail's" hand with the 
remark, 

"We're lucky so far lieutenant." 

But Connelly was shortly after mortally wounded by a big shell 
and died later in one of the big base hospitals somewhere in Prance. 

With the buzz of tanks and aeroplane motors and the bursts of 
high explosive and shrapnel, the regiment started ahead in one of 
the most exciting fights of its history. It was an inspiring sight to 
see wave after wave of infantry following the advancing tanks, and 
the other troops in small groups coming behind and on the flanks; 
and to watch the shrapnel and high explosive shells bursting among 
the lines and over the heads of the khaki-clad files. 

Beyond the crest of the hill big things immediately began to hap'- 
pen. The storm of "H. E.'s" and "G. I. cans" — high explosive — in- 
creased in intensity, gas clouds became a great deal more concentrat- 
ed, and the wh'ning and snapping machine gun and sniper bullets 
added to the toll of casualties. One big "H. E." — probably a 210 — 
knocked the captain to the ground, kicked the "shavetail" side- 
ways, and made casualties of Sergeant Connelly, one of the corporals 
and an orderly. 

Gas masks had to be donned several times. Sneezing, choking and 
lachrymal varieties made one cough, shed tears and sneeze at the 
same time. These gas concentrations might not be very dangerous, 
but it was at least exasperating to try and keep on a mask under 
such conditions. 

"First Aid! First Aid!" 

"Gas! Masks on." 

"Break up! 'Deploy more, corporal! Keep apart and advance!" 

These are but a few of the calls and commands one could hear be- 
tween explosions. 

Overhead was the pat! pat! pat of bullets in an aero battle. Close 
by were the peculiar whines, sharp cracks and snapping-stick sounds 
of the rifle and machine gun shower. Here and there on the battle- 
field but generally not close were the thunderous crashes of "H. B." 
and the noise of falling debris and screeching shrapnel. 



30 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

These intense battle noises, together with the excited calls of hu- 
mans made a babble of noises that would be impossible of imitation 
under any other conditions than a modern battle. 

And how did one feel, one wonders. Certainly the men were 
afraid. That is as human as to love or to hate. But as the result 
of training, and the effect of leadership and mob psychology, soldiers 
knew but one thing, and that was to go ahead even in the face of 
the storm. Under the stress of such intense and prolonged excite- 
ment man mentally ceases to be a man and becomes more like a 
trained animal. Some few are surprisingly calm; others bite their 
lips and clench fingers to control themselves; a few curse and some 
pray; while those few whose power of will is not strong enough to 
overcome their fear, crouch in shell holes, while their buddies go 
over them and face the hell ahead. This latter class the world calls 
cowards. 

But let us forget our fight below and watch the battle in the air. 
Who said football was exciting! Six planes, some with black Prus- 
sian crosses, the others with allied circles, were maneuvering and 
shooting streams of machine gun bullets, each aviator striving for a 
position deadly to an enemy "bus". Like six big birds, some were 
climbing, others gliding in big curves, and others suddenly diving. 
Red hot tracer bullets marked the path of each stream of steel-nosed 
peace notes — the gunner's guide to his mark. Suddenly an allied 
plane dropped, twisting and turning, apparently in a mad plunge to 
destruction. However, it didn't strike terra firma, but righted it- 
self and climbed to a good position. It was the false dive of a dare- 
devil aviator. And I used to get excited when the pigskin was al- 
most over our line! 

Soon two planes did come down, one in flames, both tumbling aim- 
lessly and landing as heaps of wreckage, the one soon shrouded by a 
cloud of dense black smoke. The German planes, with full speed on 
for home were hotly pursued by the planes with the circle insignia. 
Not all air battles ended so well in our favor. 

The advance stopped about dusk, on a hill ahead, the men digging 
in like excited nugget hunters. Each doughboy carried a trench 
tool — either a small pick or shovel — for just such emergencies. Ly- 
ing on the ground the soldier dug a hole big enough for his body and 
built a rampart around the depression with the dirt. "Dig In" was 
a familiar order in a shell attack. 

Outflanked and unsupported, the regiment was forced to leave 
the hill and take a new position farther back in order to reorganize 
and again advance. Shortly after passing the big windmill to the 
right of Montfaucon the fading of darkness announced the arrival 
of a new day with its fortunes and misfortunes of battle. 

^ i^i ^ H; ^ ^ 

The arrival at Montfaucon woods was greeted with good news and 
bad. We were to receive a hot meal, the first since leaving Foret 
de Hess. But our mess Sergeant Vought had been killed the night 
previous. Faithful to duty he had slept under the kitchen to see 
that all would be well with the horses. But when the cooks tried 
to wake him in the morning, the mangled animals and the v/ound on 
the sergeant's head showed what had happened. A piece of an ex- 
ploding shell had added one more to the total of millions already 
claimed by the war. Had the soldier worn his helmet the piece 
would almost undoubtedly have glanced off. As it was the man 
whom soldiers figure had a safe job was among the first killed. This 
was a hoo-doo position for our company, for the soldier next ap- 
pointed was also killed. He was blown up by a big shell. 

Instead of a warm meal there were sudden orders again to 
advance. Loaves of bread were quickly broken up and the pieces 



MODERN BATTLE 31 

passed among the troops as the combat groups again started after 
Fritz. 

No more food was received for a couple of days and thus far there 
had been only emergency rations^ — cold beans or greasy "Willy" 
with a few crackers. But good cheer, the worst was yet to come! 

The remaining events of the day left a rather hazy impression on 
the author's mind. 

There was an advance over rolling country with considerable 
shelling on the hill tops. Finally a position was taken on the re- 
verse slope of the hill west of Nantillois, a little French town nestling 
among several low knolls. Enemy one-pounders and seventy sevens, 
shooting almost point blank, shrieked directly overhead most of the 
night. To add to the comforts and pleasures of the situation there 
was a steady downpour of rain. 

The night was spent in the muddy shell holes, with only over- 
coats and raincoats as protection against the elements. The cold 
drizzle, the shells, the fatigue and hunger of this night and the 
next seemed to sap the last bit of strength of bodies already over- 
taxed. So fatigued were the overworked and undernourished bodies 
that a man could sleep even in mud and rain. But in the morning 
one felt far worse than after a night of intoxication. Deadened 
nerves, stiff muscles and rheumatism produce a state of mind danger- 
ous to a soldier — the attitude of caring little what happens to him 
next. 

The knowledge that two sergeants had disappeared didn't help 
matters or morale in the least. 



Snipers in Nantillois had given considerable trouble even after 
the village had been captured and regimental headquarters establish- 
ed. Early in the morning of September 29, a squad of men finally 
"mopped up" the place and one of the corporals returned with 
several photos and a bunch of letters and papers taken from one of 
the sniping crew. 

The advance on the 29th was made by an almost superhuman exer- 
tion of will power. Dazed senses and exhausted, famished bodies 
battled with will and the call of duty. Guns were rusty, there was 
no water supply except that in shell holes, and thus far no prospects 
of relief. Needless to say, stocks at this moment were about one 
hundred below par. 

Then came the orders to go over the hill ahead and support the 
attack of the 314th Infantry in the woods beyond. The death of 
our French adviser, Lieutenant Poulaine and the charge "over the 
top" followed in quick succession. 

Lieutenant Poulaine, whose home was in Paris, was a young Blue 
Devil officer of four years' service. While he was advising the act- 
ing major and the "shavetail" aforementioned just how to proceed 
with the attack, a bullet from a sudden, well directed fusilade of 
machine gun fire mortally wounded the young Frenchman. 

The acting major and "shavetail" took his last words. 

"Ah! Captain, I was a fool — I was careless. Ai:ter four years I 
let them get me that easy! Kiss mother for me." These together 
with information concerning personal affairs and a final "Good 
bye" were his last words. He was sent back on a stretcher made of 
rifles and coats, but died shortly after arriving at the first aid sta- 
tion. 

Then quickly followed the advance over the hilltop, wave after 
wave passing through the area swept by machine gun fusilades and 
taking position supporting the 315th Infantry, who were soon com- 
pelled by lack of flank supports to fall back to the hill behind. 



32 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

The battalion covered the movement and took its position on the 
reverse slope of the hill — under the most severe shrapnel or overhead 
explosive fire the company had experienced. 

Another seemingly endless night of rain and shrieking shells, spent 
in the unheated rooms of Hotel de Shell Hole failed to improve the 
condition of dazed nerves and almost senseless bodies. But the star 
of luck was at last due to glimmer with at least a faint sparkle. 

With daylight came rumors of relief. These were quickly con- 
firmed by actual orders to prepare to be relieved by the Third Divis- 
ion. 

Just before the combat groups went back through the ruins of 
Montfaucon, the once-famous German Gibralter, a strange incidePL 
happened in the air. A lone German plane had been flying 
over the enemy lines for a considerable period, when it suddenly col- 
lapsed, burst into flame, and spun like a pin-wheel to earth — a mass 
of fire. The only plausible explanation seemed to be that it was hit 
by an enemy high explosive shell, for it was directly in line with 
their artillery fire. However, the accident may have been the result 
of an explosion of the gas tank. 

Hoboes could hardly look more uncouth than the columns of 
soldiers trailing over the ruins of Montfaucon on the even ng of 
Se;-'tember 30th. With seven-day beards, clothing ripped and 
shredded by barbed wire, and a th'ck coating of Argonne mud 
cemented to the hide with perspiration, the men hardly looked hu- 
man. Everyone was emaciated and hollow-eyed, most of them suffer- 
ing from bad colds and related ills. Swollen feet and stiffened 
muscles were the common lot of all. Guns and bayonets were 
covered with thick layers of rust. Even the ordinarily well dressed 
officers were hardly presentable to a self-respecting hobo. Such 
were the visible effects of a few days in a modern battle. 

But let us go to Paris and forget as a few of the soldiers in some 
divisions did, either on official leave or A. W. O. L. —absent without 
official leave. 



CHAPTER XIV. 
The Glitter of Paris. 

Paris, queen of beautiful cities and dictator of fashions, has long 
been the Mecca of gayety for pleasure seekers of both hemispheres. 
And so long has it justly held these claims to brilliance that the 
word "Paree" seems to carry with it a halo of magic and glitter. 
Most travelers and pleasure seekers who have never visited this city 
of dreams wistfully hope that they may; while those who have 
seen the gardens, palaces, boulevards and other wonderful points of 
interest, and have taken part in the life of unexcelled gayety. com- 
mand memories which at the bidding of the favored ones become 
as delightful dreams. 

Coming from Bar-le-Duc, Chateau-Thierrj', or Chalons-sur-Seine 
to Paris, the Yank entered the famous metropolis at Gare de L'Est 
— the Eastern Railroad Station. If he held a special pass he will- 
ingly submitted to the prescribed requirements of military-police, 
red tape. If A. W. O. L. — absent without leave — he must either 
fool the M. P.'s, or sidestep their cards and papers. 

The next move was usually to hail a taxi. 

"Ten Rue St. Anne" he would generally instruct the driver if fol- 
lowing the bona fide, approved course of a man on official leave. 

"Les Grandes Eoulevai'ds" or "Cafe de La Paix" might well be 
his directions if A. W. O. L. or avoiding the M. P. headquarters on 
Rue St. Ann— inie means street. 



THE GLITTER OF PARIS 33 

With, a polite "Oui, Monsieur", his efficient taxi man expertly 
guided the little red auto-carriage through the traffic at a rapid 
rate, dodging pedestrians and vehicles as only a Paris taxi driver 
can; and in a short time the doughboy-tourist found himself in the 
heart of the magic city of dazzle and frolic. Coming from a long 
siege in the land of hardship, pyrotechnics and death he was as 
ready for a celebration as a lumberjack in town after a winter in 
the woods. 

Granting full freedom to your imagination, why not accompany 
the Yank for a while, and lose yourself in the gay throngs and 
wonderful places of this city of magic? Let your imagination place 
you at one of the scores of little marble-topped tables under the 
awning in front of Cafe de La Paix, in the most popular section of 
the main Boulevard. Lazily sipping citronade, via blanc, or other 
French beverages which your thirst desires, your attention is divid- 
ed between the passing throng and your languorous neighbors 
under the awning. Efficient "garcons" — French waiters — -flit 
among the crowded tables, expertly balancing their loaded trays and 
sliding glasses of beverage across the smooth marble of the table 
top. After setting down your glass of vin or fizz, your garcon 
waits with professional unconcern until you give him the expected 
pourboire or tip. Then with a very polite "Merei beaucoup, Mon- 
sieur" a word of thanks, he accepts your fifty-centimes and leaves 
you free to observe the sights. 

What an intensely interesting throng steadily streams past your 
little grandstand! The promenaders making up the international 
dress parade of soldiers and civilians represent practically all of 
the Allied Nations. Sturdy, bare-legged Scotch Highlanders are 
closely followed by laughing Italian officers wearing their peculiar 
dress hats with waving plumes. Almost brushing your extended 
foot there next passes a group of blue uniformed French soldiers, 
decorated with various medals of bravery, and conversing with ex- 
cited gestures as they mingle with the crowd. The attention is 
quickly diverted to an olive-skinned Oriental wearing bright-colored 
robes. He might be a Calcutta Chieftain or a Morroccan Consul, 
and as far as your own knowledge or particular desire to know is 
concerned he might be an Afghan. Your glance flits here and there 
as you see new types and strange individuals. The endless stream 
of international characters invariably contains neatly uniformed 
Australians in khaki suits and cocked hats, American officers and 
soldiers with their typical confident air, Poles and other strange 
types not so well represented. 

Very prominent, not only in the passing throng but also at the 
crowded tables, are the laughing and flirting girls popularly known 
as "mademoiselles." Elaborately dressed in the latest French styles, 
they flock the boulevards, cafes and other public places. Many of 
them would be truly beautiful did they not spoil their natural, 
feminine attractions by using the variety of articles in their vamping 
kits — powder bags. But the "mademoiselle" apparently is as much 
a part of Paris as its boulevards and fashion shops. They seem to 
be everywhere — in the cinemas, theatres, cafes and restaurants, and 
on the main avenues and boulevards. But it is in the Montmartre 
section near the Moulin Rouge, Le Rat Mort, Le Cliat Noir and other 
cabarets; in the Latin quarter near the university and on Champs 
Elysees and Grand Boulevards that they seem to be the predominant 
element in the ultra-urban life. 

In an entirely distinct class, however, are the girls and women 
who though light-hearted and gay, are accompanied by a brother 
or father. Americans are too apt to judge the French by a certain 



34 UNBEIR THE LORRAINE CROSS 

few types. France has its various classes just as we do in our own 
country — good, bad and vascillating. 

"L'Excelsior, Le Petit Parisien, La Vie Parisienne — lisez vous 
concernant le traite cle la paixl — I/Excelsior — ". The shrill voices 
of news urchins could frequently be heard loudly advertising their 
wares. 

Finally, after a lengthy period of dreamy observation, you give up 
your chair at the cafe and satisfy your desire to mingle with the 
passing people and to see the sights along the Paris Boulevards. 

A visitor to Paris — especially of the soldier type who seeks ad- 
venture and new experiences — is very apt to decide that anything is 
likely to happen in the French Capitol. Such a conclusion is almost 
certain to be reached if the visit is prolonged an appreciable length 
of time. 

Again giving free play to imagination the reader might mingle 
with the crowd and slowly wend his way along the avenues and 
Grande Boulevards. It is the evening of a fete day, say July 14th, 
which corresponds to our July 4th. 

You have gazed at countless displays of fashions and jewelry, 
glanced over the interesting crowds seated in front of the many 
brilliantly lighted cafes, and idly read the bill boards of the numer- 
ous theatres and "cinemas." 

Just as you rejoin the crowd after coming out of a curious little 
confectionery shop, you are almost swept off your feet by a sudden 
rush of girls and boys wearing tam o'shanter hats of various colors. 
Grasping each others hands and forming a closed circle, they push and 
pull you along the crowded walk, and then with a final shower of 
confetti paper let you escape. Shortly after you notice the same 
crowd, greatly increased by friends, forming a snake dance on the 
pave. They are students of the Sorbonne, or University of Paris, 
celebrating as only students can. 

As you elbow your way along with increasing difficulty, occasion- 
ally saluting or returning salutes — depending upon how "rank" you 
are — ^the spirit of abandon and frolic increases. Two pretty Mad- 
emoiselles smile and wink, presumably at yourself, and you are nat- 
urally surprised. But when, a little later, another calls "Bon Soir, 
mon cher" and a third embraces you in public, you refuse to be sur- 
prised at anything. 

Frequently, groups of soldiers singing either "La Madelon", "Tyke 
Me Back to Blighty," or "Li'l Liza Jane," depending upon their 
nationality, pursue their unsteady courses with as little serious 
thought as only a man can have who is stimulated with Cognac or 
Triple Sec. Tiring a little of the crowd, your gaze wanders to the 
streams of speeding taxies, rushing in opposite directions on both 
sides of the boulevard. By means of these oddly colored, speedy 
little vehicles or the wonderful subway system, one can quickly 
move to a new and interesting quarter of the city. 

Later in the evening, after leaving Boulevard Montmartre on your 
way to the famous Polies Bergere you suddenly witness an event 
which quickly dampens your spirit of frolic. A loud report from 
across the street immediately commands your attention. After see- 
ing the flashes of three more revolver shots, you notice a woman 
stagger in the semi-darkness and fall in front of the assassin. The 
murderer — a young French soldier — calmly puts his pistol away 
and walks rapidly down the street. You are at first so dumfounded 
you hardly know what to do, but finally make a run for the criminal. 
However, your little dash is quite unnecessary, for a Gendarme or 
French policeman has come around the corner and now holds his 
man at the point of a gun. A police taxi quickly takes care of the 
' soldier and another rushes away with the woman. The facts con- 



THE GLITTER OF PARIS 35 

nected with, the murder you heard nothing of — not even in the news- 
papers next day. 

Still later in the evening you see a Red riot in which several thou- 
sand men, women and children carrying red banners and placards, 
are yelling such warnings as "Vive Les Bolshevicks," or "Long live 
the Bolshevicks" and "La Bas La Bourgoisie" or "Down with the 
Middle Classes." 

Finally tired and fatigued, you walk or take a taxi back to Hotel 
Pavilion or Hotel de Louvre, and dream over the events of the day. 

Any of the incidents or sights given in this imaginative account 
might easily have been seen by a visitor to Paris just after the Arm- 
istice. In fact this little picture of Paris life is all drawn from the 
experiences of the author while attending the University of Paris 
during the summer of the Peace Conference. 

But stranger and more interesting things than those mentioned 
could be seen in Paris. Among the relics in Notre Dame Cathedral 
reposes a crown of thorns believed by the French to be the original 
crown worn by Christ. Under the city, in the catacombs, may be seen 
millions of human bones piled like firewood along the galleries, or 
worked into queer designs with skulls and skeletons. One can still 
see the guillotine which cut off several thousand heads during the 
French Revolution, or the coffin containing the remains of Napo- 
leon, the Great. If one desires, he can go to the summit of Eiffel 
Tower, the highest structure in the world. During the summer of 
the author's sojourn one might see or listen to Generals Poch, Per- 
shing or Joifre, or to other notables of the Peace Conference, and 
one even had the privilege of sitting on the peace table or inspect- 
ing the cold, but beautiful bath room of Napoleon at the Palace of 
Fontainebleau. 

An aerial view of the dream city from the apex of Eiffel Tower, 
will complete our visit to Paris. Then, lightened in spirit, we can 
return to the ruins of Montfaucon, and see what destiny has in store 
for the men of Co. "F". 

From the summit of Tour D'Eiffel, especially in mid-summer, the 
tourist is favored with a view which the ancients surely would have 
ascribed as belonging only to the Gods. Almost a thousand feet be- 
low — the bright sunlight showing the different colors in their most 
attractive tints — one sees a panorama of beautiful gardens, towering 
cathedral spires, palaces, public buildings, monuments of rich design 
and many other things of great beauty, the whole wonderful mas- 
terpiece of landscape art being divided by the curved blue line of 
the winding Seine River. Powerful field glasses greatly increase 
the splendor of the scene by bringing the statues, gardens, fountains, 
etc. into the range of clear vision. 

So many wonderful spots of beauty attract the eye that it is dif- 
ficult to fasten one's attention to a single object of interest long 
enough really to appreciate its artistic merits. The emblazoned dome 
of the Invalides which contains the coffin of Napoleon and the 
precious relics of French wars, resembles a huge ball of gold glitter- 
ing in the sunlight like a big, polished nugget. Overlooking the rest 
of the city from its commanding position on the Montmartre, the 
Cathedral of Sacre Coeur of Byzantine design seems to be a silent 
sentinel constantly watching for enemies. At the foot of the steel 
tower, and just across the Seine, the Trocadero Palace is boldly out- 
lined against the green background of the surrounding groves. Its 
Spanish architecture is in strong contrast to the other buildings of 
the city. 

The center of the city's beauty, however, is Place de La Concorde, 
the largest square in the world. Looking in various directions from 
its central point one first gazes across a garden of fountains, flower 



36 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

beds and marble statues, to the immense art gallery of the Louvre, 
beyond. In the opposite direction the eye gazes along Champ's 
Elysee — the broad avenue of promenades and groves — to the huge 
Arche de Triomphe built by Napoleon. In still another direction, 
at the end of Rue iRoyal one sees the marble pillars of the Madel- 
aine Cathedral. 

One could easily write volumes describing the points of beauty 
and sketches of life of the great pleasure city — but the three-day 
leave is near its end and the Yank must go back to join his outfit. 



CHAPTER XV. 
Tilly 

The one bright spot in the memory of life at the front is Tilly. 
This is not the name of a fair, peasant mademoiselle; for during the 
time spent in or near the battle lines no woman's tace appeared to 
cheer the weary soldier. Tilly was a deserted village on the Meuse 
River, just back of the lines. In this quaint little town the company 
spent about ten days that were almost pleasant. However, we are 
a little ahead of our story. Several events happening during the 
trip to Tilly are worthy of notice. 

Leaving the ruins of Montfaucon, the regiment hiked about ten 
kilometres across the Argonne battlefield to Malancourt. Here 
Avas a sight which could hardly help fail to melt the hardest heart. 
This unavoidable misfortune has been very well described by Irwin 
S. Cobb in one of his special, newspaper articles. 

Stalled on the muddy Malancourt road was a long train of am- 
bulances and motor trucks loaded to capacity with wounded men 
brought back during the five-day battle just ended. The road had 
been so badly damaged by our own intense artillery barrage at the 
beginning of the drive that the motor train was unable to move out 
until the road was repaired by engineers. This highway was the only 
accessible inlet to the area for ammunition and supplies, and the 
only line of evacuation for wounded men. But so effective had been 
the barrage that artillery was unable to keep up with the infantry, 
and the wounded could not be evacuated. 

The night was damp and cold, the air heavy with fog and the 
ground wet with dew. According to reports of the ambulance driv- 
ers many of the occupants had died during the previous twenty-four 
hours, and others who needed immediate attention were in miser- 
able shape. There were not even enough blankets to keep the suf- 
ferers warm — on a night so cold that the troops on the Malancourt 
hillside could not sleep. The cries and groans of these men aroused 
every desire to aid — but little could be done until the motor train 
could carry them to hospitals. The remembrance is another of the 
memories of the war that time can never erase frorn the minds of 
those who witnessed the plight of the unfortunates. 

Another incident happened at Malancourt that some might regard 
as unworthy of special notice. This was the first meal of the men 
for five days; the company had gone over the top with only emer- 
gency rations and had not had a meal since. 

In appearance the soldiers were not even in a class with hoboes, 
and when "chow" call was given they performed somewhat like a 
herd of famished animals. When the containers of soup, Boston- 
baked, "Java", bread and molasses were displayed, a scene akin to 
a riot followed. The curses, disputes, crowding and even snatching of 
food were evidence enough of the strong call which a famished 
man's stomach can make, especially when food is in evidence. 



TILLY 37 

The last half hour of the long hike from Malancourt to our old 
position in Bois de Hesse was an iron test of will power and con- 
stitution. Those who stood it finally staggered into the wood, 
glassy-eyed, with perspiration pouring down their grimy faces, and 
completely broken in spirit. At the final word "Fall Out" each 
doughboy dropped into the nearest shady spot, unloosened his pack, 
and lay motionless with the senses almost completely dazed. 

A considerable portion of the clothing and blankets which we 
had left in Bois de Hesse remained unclaimed — good evidence of the 
number of casualties since leaving the spot about a week previous. 
About two hundred and forty men had gone over the top, but at this 
point several score were absent. Those who failed to answer, 
"Here!" at roll call were included in the list of killed, wounded, or 
unaccounted for. 

Rupt, although it furnished only the poorest sort of billets had a 
few arguments in its favor. It at least furnished plenty of hot suds, 
pretty good "chow", c. c. pills and blister treatments, and best of 
all, letters from home — for some. 

But the little village of Tilly on the west bank of the Meuse River 
half way between St. Mihiel ar.d Verdun, is the brightest spot in all 
the history of the company's activity in the front line area. It fur- 
nished good billets, plenty of excellent food, home talent shows, 
mail, wine, beaucoup good rumors and enough hot suds to kill an 
army of cooties and all their poor relations. Only an occasional 
drill and the familiar noise of an enemy aeroplane motor on a starry 
night reminded one of war and its attendant evils. The next move 
and future events mattered little. Pate was at least kind for the 
moment. 

One of the best chances for an officer really to know and under- 
stand his men was by censoring letters. In the course of an hour's 
work reading and approving messages written by men of all grades 
of education and stations in life, one felt that he could almost read 
their thoughts and souls. 

"Dere Mabel" creatures are mild compared to some of the real 
letters. One cook apparently spent about all his spare time writing 
to "IDear, sweet wonderful little honey bunch" — ten sheet editions 
delivered about every other day. 

Another fellow simply couldn't stay with one idea, writing about 
as follows: "And we had nothin' to eet for five days and its raining 
hard all day today and meals is better now and if you send that swet- 
ter put some plugg and tobacco in. I hope this war stops soon and 
I got cooties now so good bye and rite when you get this." 

The common topics of discussion were the "grub", rumors, cooties, 
and reports of the end of the war or the capture of the Kaiser. 

Some letters were full of prayers and religion and others full of 
bravado and wild stories of "over-the-top"; many were written with 
the grammatical mistakes of children while others were almost 
pathetic in their simplicity. The familiar label "O. K. 1st Lieutenant 
— 314 Infantry" on each letter meant that the officer was responsi- 
ble to superiors for its contents. 

Sudden orders to prepare for action and be ready to move as 
quickly as possible changed the pleasant dream of Tilly into a night- 
mare of hardships, uncertainty, and poison gas. 

Equipped for battle, the battalion column swung out of Tilly 
across the Meuse to Ambly, and continued its fast, emergency hike 
to the woods beyond Vaux. A German "push" was expected during 
the night and strict orders were given the sergeants to hold the 
troops in readiness for action. The major and company commanders 
reconnoitered ahead to select the best defensive positions, but were 
held up by a valley containing a strong concentration of poison gas. 



38 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

Positions were selected and plans made, but Pritzie for some reason 
indefinitely postponed his visit — or else some Americans had been 
badly fooled. 

The outfit was back in Tilly within twenty-four hours after leav- 
ing. Then followed the quick departure to an unknown sector some- 
where north of Verdun. 

Those who know more of the situation must have felt about as 
one of a flock of turkeys at the approach of the holidays. The sal- 
ient which we were to take over was a bad one, and according to 
reports the war would likely soon come to an end. That was an odd 
feeling — to know that if one escaped the coming event his chances 
of again seeing the statue of Liberty were good; and that if he hap- 
pened to "go west" he would have just barely missed escaping the 
journey. 

The big events of the hike to the wreckage of Forges woods were 
the appearance in force of cooties at Sommedieu, and the night in 
the cavernous excavations of the damp dugout system at 23.1-63.9. 
The place reminded one of the "gangways" and "chambers" of a 
hard coal mine. 

At Forges woods the majority of officers of the regiment left for 
the front lines, crowded in a big army truck, to reconnoitre the 
dangerous salient soon to be occupied. 



CHAPTER XVL 
Death Valley. 

The following narrative and description are not the fictitious crea- 
tions of a strong imagination. The unexaggerated account tells the 
story of a visit to the back yard of his Satanic Majesty of the horns 
and tail. It is the story of a relief trip through a valley of disas- 
ters, followed by seven days in Bois de Chenes under conditions 
which a strong imagination might easily ascribe to the regions where 
the Rajah of Devils is supposed to hold supreme sway. 

The long, narrow valley extended from the ruins of Somogneux, 
past the village of Haumont, to the wooded hill called Bois de 
Chenes. Death Valley some of the doughboys labeled it, and such 
did its appearance and the near-future developments prove it to 
be. The summits of the ridges were covered with masses and bands 
of rusted barbed wire, while their slopes were s.) thoroughly pit- 
ted with shell craters that the earth at this point appeared to have 
been stricken with some pock disease. The masses of splintered 
tree trunks, all that remained of former groves and woods, also 
seemed to have been affected by some dreadful scourge. 

On the reconnoitering trip, the afternoon of the day of the relief, 
one could hardly help but be impressed with the story of death and 
destructon as told by the great variety of battle debris scattered 
along the path and road leading from the canal near Somogneux to 
the battalion dug-out at the head of the valley. Mangled bodies of 
dead horses, the remains of blown-up kitchens and wagons, sheet 
iron slabs used in building dug-outs, shells and shell splinters, hand 
bombs, rusted rifles, loaves of bread, cans of meat, slabs of bacon, 
and many other odds and ends of supplies, ammunition and equip- 
ment completed the weird picture of destruction — the result of sev- 
eral years of intermittent shelling and gassing by Hun artillery. 
There were no dead bodies visible along the path, but the small, 
scattered groups of rough wooden crosses told of quick burials. It 
did not require sensitive nostrils to smell the fumes of mustard gas 
at any time, but more especially when the hot sun increased evap- 
oration of the deadly fumes. Such signs and conditions told a 



DEATH VALLEY 39 

variety of tales of scattered ration details, gas attacks, box barrages, 
blown-up kitchens and ambulances, numerous casualties and other 
portentous battle events. 

Death Valley was the approach to an area of wooded hills and 
ravines defended, at the time, by the 26th Division. The position 
was a most dangerous one, due to the fact that it was a salient or 
bend in the lines, which gave the enemy the advantage of striking 
the position on three sides — from the front and both flanks. 

The reconnoitreing party had not failed to notice the repeated in- 
tense high explosive and gas-shell barrages which intermittently 
swept the whole area, or to see the great mass of battle debris scat- 
tered the full length of the valley, and still beyond, they had been 
duly impressed with stories of disaster told by men of the Yankee 
Division who were now holding the front lines — stories which were 
but too well illustrated by first hand views of numerous mangled 
bodies of Germans and Americans lying along the trails and the nar- 
row-gauge railroad track of Bois De Chenes and Bois De Belleau. 
Consequently, the proposition of marching the regiment the full 
length of Death Valley in order to relieve the Yankee Division, hold- 
ing the hills beyond, appeared to have all the ear marks of mass su- 
icide. 

The relief took place on Hallowe'en night. One could hardly wish 
for a more weird and uncanny celebration, or a setting more suit- 
able to the night when spooks and goblins are supposed to rule the 
dark hours. 

Under cover of darkness the regiment ended its bivouac in deso- 
late Forges woods and blindly stumbled its way over the rough ter- 
rain to their unknown destination. The men knew little or nothing 
of their mission. 

At the site of old Somogneux — marked only by a sign board and 
a few scattered piles of broken masonry — the officers met their units 
and the single file of men began its relief march through the dark, 
gassy ,Death Valley. 

In the darkness the men could see nothing of the battle debris, 
and didn't realize the danger of the situation. As a result, there 
was too much loud calling by "non-coms" and too great a lack of 
speed, to allow those who realized actual conditions to feel at all 
comfortable. 

A sudden intense barrage of explosive and gas shells, sweeping 
the whole valley, and causing nothing short of wholesale slaughter 
and a wild panic, was the constant, fearful expectation of those who 
had accompanied the reconnoitering expedition during the day. 

Why the outfit was blessed with such great luck or rather with 
such a miracle is something that cannot be explained; but the fact 
is that the two thousand-odd men finally arrived at the head of the 
valley with no serious losses. Had the enemy acted at the critical 
hour, a far different tale would be told. 

From this point the different units wended their way along the 
wooded trails to the area of shell holes, dug-outs and trenches oc- 
cupied by the 2 6th Division. "F" company crossed a hilly, open 
field, and the file of shadowy figures stumbled its way along the path 
bordering the narrow-gauge track leading directly into their new pos- 
ition. Reports as well as the inspection made by the reconnoitering 
party, indicated that this part of the trail was by far the most dan- 
gerous. Whole sections of tracking had been torn completely asunder 
by powerful explosive shells, the jagged ends of the rails and metal 
ties curving upward over the deep shell craters beneath. Numer- 
ous corpses of Germans and Americans lay scattered along the track, 
some darkened with age, and most of them mangled or dismember- 
ed. 



40 UNDER THE LORRAINE GROSS 

According to reports the enemy could tell when any one walked 
on the track, having made electrical signal connections when they 
had retreated from the position. Whether or not this was so, Fritz 
had excellent range on the track and trail. Not a few rumors and 
ration details of the outfit holding the position testified to that. 
Needless to say, when a few "whizz-bangs" and "G. I. cans" fell near- 
by with deafening reports, those who fully appreciated the situation 
felt suddenly weak in the knees. The First Sergeant, who was mak- 
ing his first trip to the lines was unfortunate enough to stumble 
over several dead bodies — a rather severe initiation into front line 
life. 

Finally, the closed-up file of platoons arrived at the headquarters 
of the commander of the company to be relieved. In his musty dug- 
out this officer explained conditions to the incoming commander, 
and accepted a receipt for sector property. With an "Au Kevoir" he 
wished the newcomers the best of luck, but stated that they were 
entirely welcome to the little stretch of hell in Bois de Chenes. His 
parting advice was to lay low, as Fritz controlled the area and es- 
pecially this hill. He was the only officer remaining with the com- 
pany. The seventy odd men which he still commanded were brok- 
en in nerve and spirit by repeated gas and shell attacks and constant 
exposures and privations. 

The relief was quickly completed, "F" men taking over the out- 
posts, trenches and dugouts of Co. "B". With curt instructions re- 
garding the position and a few words of advice, the relieved men 
quickly departed. In the outposts of the dark, wooded hill, in some 
places within fifty to one hundred yards of the enemy, the individ- 
uals or small groups were left alone with their thoughts. 

Night after night these men would silently watch and listen for 
a sign of the enemy. Patrols and raiding parties, or even a general 
attack to cut off the company position, were possibilities which must 
be constantly guarded against along the line. All night long, at 
frequent intervals, star shells and signal flares would light up the 
landscape, and just as frequently, one could hear the intermittent 
single shots of snipers or the rapid bursts of automatic rifles or 
machine guns, somewhere in the darkness, either directly ahead or 
on the flanks. 

There are good reasons why the next seven days were days of al- 
most literal hell. The combination of unburied bodies, weeks old, 
intense shelling and gassing, little food, cold and rainy weather, 
very poor sanitary conditions, mud, cooties, and the everlasting 
proposition of "Keep your head down, Yankee boy" make this a 
memory that is the worst nightmare of the whole weird experience 
in the land of fireworks. 

"F" company here occupied a precarious position. Their mission 
was to hold Bois de Chenes at all costs. This was a wooded hill 
extending directly toward the German lines to a distance of at least 
three hundred yards ahead of the main front line held by "G" and 
"E" companies on the left and the 313th Infantry on the right. 

Day and night, at irregular periods, the Huns swept the hills and 
valleys with barrages of explosives and gas shells of all sizes and 
types. 

As the enemy threatened and harrassed Bois de Chenes from the 
woods and ridges of both front and forward flanks it was dangerous 
and difficult to even bring food and water into the position. This 
was done at night. IDietails would sneak out of the position late in 
the afternoon, meet special food details of "H" Co. at battalion 
P. C. — post command — and bring back the soup, coffee, bread and 
beans after dark. From the company P. C. the platoon details had 
the difficult job of carrying the cans to outposts, sentinel posts, dug- 



DEATH VALLEY 41 

outs, and strong points with as little noise as possible. Sudden shell 
fire frequently caused disaster to coffee, bean and soup cans, and the 
boys went hungry until the next night, or at best had a small help- 
ing. When the detail was gassed, the loaves of bread, a dozen or 
more on a Vi^ire, were discarded as unfit; and often on a warm eve- 
ning the soup and beans were sour. Dragging the big containers 
from shell hole to shell hole was no easy job. The work of ration- 
ing front line men was one of the biggest problems of fighting units. 

Company "H" whose mission it was to carry the food supplies 
from the kitchens in Death Valley to battalion headquarters dugout, 
lost far more men than did the companies in contact with the Ger- 
mans. Box barrages and gas shells resulted in many casualties and 
hungry men. 

Sergeant Hess, in charge of "F" company kitchen, was our second 
mess sergeant to meet his death. He was blown up by a shell in 
Death Valley, on his first trip to the position. Hess lived and died 
as a true soldier. He was buried near Haumont in the valley. 

The suicide patrol and the events which quickly followed were 
the climax to this seven days in Hades. Orders received from 
Division Headquarters about noon of November 7, directed the com- 
pany commanders to send out patrols of sixteen men each at three 
P. M., to locate enemy machine gun nests and capture prisoners. 
One's first opinion naturally was that there must be some mistake 
in the order. To send a patrol across the lines in broad daylight in a 
position controlled by the enemy seemed to be suie suicide! Yet 
such was the order. 

Lieutenant Caibla was directed to take sixteen men to the most 
advanced outpost, several hundred yards ahead of the front line, 
with orders to use his best judgment and avoid needless sacrifice. 
"E" and "G" patrols coming up on the left were going directly 
toward ground that had already been found to be extremely danger- 
ous by some of our previous patrols. So the lieutenant decided to 
go ahead and help. Sudden enemy machine gun and sniper fire 
came from front ridges and flank strong points; and within a couple 
of minutes after the shooting of an artillery signal flare, a most 
intense artillery barrage began to sweep the whole area. The 
patrols were in a very delicate position, caught on flanks and in 
front, and forced to dig in and hold out until dusk to crawl back. 
"E" and "G" patrols were badly cut up. "F" company patrol, with 
knowledge of the ground, had less casualties. It was on this patrol 
that Alfred Jones unflinchingly gave his life. 

The enemy evidently figured a general attack, for the artillery 
fire was the most intense we ever experienced. The hills simply 
rocked with the roar of high explosives, shrapnel, seventy-sevens, 
and one pounders, and there was a steady storm of shrapnel frag- 
ments, mud and sticks for at least a half hour. The landscape 
changed considerably. If your imagination can picture a hurricane 
of dynamite sticks, accompanied by shrieks, roars and whistles you 
may have an idea of the experience. But surprising as it may seem. 
the casualties were seen to be few when a check was taken of the 
company. Two men blown out of a trench were useless as soldiers 
thereafter, due to broken nerves or shell shock. The numerous 
fresh holes, splintered trees, blown-in trenches and unearthed bodies 
best showed the severity of the barrage. But a man lying in a hole 
or trench is pretty well protected from flying pieces. Direct hits, 
however, told a different story. 

All nightmares come to an end, and the dreamer generally con- 
gratulates himself that the scene and act of the abnormal state of 
mind were not real. The noticeable lull in firing, on the afternoon 
of November 8, and the orders to follow the retreating enemy soon 
brought an end to the nightmare of Bois de Chenes. 



42 UNDER THEi LORRAINE CROSS 

CHAPTER XVII. 
From Bois de Chenes to Cote Romagne. 

Fritz had quietly moved without paying his rent. Patrols skirting 
the hills ahead of Bois de Chenes could not even attract a rifle shot. 
But aeroplanes had noticed the column of troops, artillery and supply 
wagons moving toward the Rhine at a rapid rate. American artillery 
was already making direct hits on kitchen trains and Prussian bat- 
talions. 

That afternoon, in the major's deep dugout back near Death 
Valley, wires were humming and messages received and answered in 
rapid succession. A casual observer would have great difficulty in 
understanding the meaning of what was said. 

"This is Istruct one — Give me India Eleven. She is going to the 
party at "OK" 12. No, he wears size "C". Yes, to Itaska three." 

This is a fair sample of apparently senseless phone talk which 
might be a message of vital importance to one who understood the 
code. 

The Major's runners quickly despatched messages to company com- 
manders to prepare for immediate advance. That rent must be 
paid! 

There was to be a hot-foot pursuit by advancing in platoon 
columns until daylight and then going ahead rapidly in open order 
formation, the battalion forming a single wave with men far apart. 
This meant a line at least a mile in length. 

The pursuit progressed several miles before any unit encountered 
the slightest resistance. One began to wonder if the Germans had 
finally decided to spend the winter across the Rhine. The most 
noticeable feature of the deserted landscape was the series of dug- 
out towns built in the slopes of narrow valleys. From a distance, 
these hillsides looked like the burrows of countless ground hogs. 
Upon close examination one found them to be underground camps 
well equipped with kitchens, sleeping chambers, stables and store- 
houses. 

Off to the left, rising above the sea of rapidly clearing fog, stood 
the rounded summits of a series of large hills. Surely, one con- 
cluded, the enemy hadn't abandoned even these excellent points of 
resistance in their quick retreat. To the advancing troops these 
numerous knolls were indicative of a combat with another wall of 
German defenses. 

Crepion was completely deserted and Moirey just beyond was in a 
similar state. About this time there was a noticeable increase in the 
number of bursting shells. Since the enemy had left his position the 
previous afternoon, only an occasional shell came over and these 
few had not fallen too close for comfort. 

But when a series of "big boys" hit true on the road out of Moirey, 
and several others struck the town itself, suspicion was fastened on 
big oval Hill 328, just across the swamp beyond the town. 

At least a thousand pair of weary eyes anxiously watched the 
scouts and patrols approach the foot of the hill. Were there pill 
boxes and outposts in the zig-zag trenches on the hillside, or had 
Fritz also forsaken this natural stronghold? 

The familiar "pop, pop, pop" of machine guns quickly confirmed 
suspicions and resulted in immediate preparations to take the hill. 
Our one pounders and machine guns, shooting a barrage over the 
heads of the infantry, soon wiped out the few nests, and the advance 
began. About this time a very unfortunate incident resulted in the 
death of Captain Battles of the Machine Gun Company. While 
crawling back through bushes from a forward position, his own men 



BOIS DE CHENES TO COTE ROMAGNE 43 

and some infantry thought he was a German and riddled him with 
bullets from his own guns. 

The advance led through swamps and muck beds and across a 
narrow stream. "F" company held the right flank, and, as the re- 
sult of the position, was suddenly exposed to flank fire from Chau- 
mont over on the right of the hill. To hear the angry cracks of bul- 
lets coming from a flank and watch the leads bite up the dust along 
your line of exposed men is a demoralizing situation to say the least. 
A covered position soon corrected this and Fritz's lead sung harm- 
lessly overhead. 

That night, November 9, the company held the right flank of the 
hill with strong outposts. The cold and frost and the frozen clothing 
and blankets, first signs of winter, did not revive any lost hopes by 
any means. During the night the sad mistake of a German meant 
the end of his mortal existence. Private Nicolo Kotoloup, an expert 
with an automatic, was watching keenly from an outpost for enemy 
patrols, when he saw a figure approach. 

"Who's there?" he called with an Austrian accejit. 

"Hi, Lo!" answered the unfortunate Heine. The few German 
words which followed decided his fate. 

After a burst from the automatic the gunner examined the body 
and found he had been carrying a bag of sugar. The unfortunate 
Fritz apparently thought he was in friendly territory. Possibly he 
had been sent for supplies and came back to his old post. 

At daylight, on November 10, the battalion fell back to the rail- 
road, while our artillery pounded the top of the hiil. It then at- 
tacked behind the advancing barrage, passing through a counter 
barrage whose shells were throwing great spurts ot mud and water 
as they exploded in the swamp in front of the hill. 

The waves of attack cleared the top of Hill 328, and started 
toward 319 — but stopped short when the intense machine gun bar- 
rage from the ridge of 319 made every wise doughboy look for a 
hole or rampart of some sort to escape the shower of bullets. 

For nine hours the Yanks were forced to stay below barrage 
line, not a few being caught in depressions hardly big enough to 
stretch out in or to allow sitting up without exposure to the deadly 
hail of lead. 

Combat patrols from the left flank of the battalion suffered heavily 
as the result of several unsuccessful attempts to wipe out some of 
the machine gun nests. 

Cries of "First Aid" were frequent, but it was next to impossible 
to attend some of the unfortunate without facing almost certain 
death. Most of these wounded had been caught in the first break of 
the storm. 

Captain McDermott of "E" company, in standing up to call out 
some orders, was almost immediately shot in the stomach. Captain 
Jacobs of "H" company had a very close call. A bullet pierced his 
helmet in front, glanced around the inside rim, and went out the 
back without ever drawing blood. However, he was knocked un- 
conscious and suffered with a slight concussion of the brain. 

Buglers Haire and Herlikofer in carrying messages to the major 
both became casualties, Haire being severely wounded in the leg and 
Herlikafer killed. Harry Moon, Hugh McMonogle, Philip Schneider 
and George Zimmerman also made the supreme sacrifice. 

From seven in the morning until four in the afternoon it was nec- 
essary to lie low in a shell hole, road bed or other depression, and 
listen to the angry cracks of bullets flying from a few inches to sev- 
eral feet overhead, depending on the depth of the depressions. But 
with only a few inches to spare, a man could still lie low and avoid 
stopping a bullet. 



44 UNDEIR THE LORRAINE CROSS 

At 4 p. m. the tables were turned. Orders received from the ma- 
jor directed an attack to be made on Hill 319 at 4:20, after an in- 
tense artillery barrage. There was a decided rise in spirits as the 
men watched the shells bursting among the machine gun nests on 
the opposite hill and prepared to go "over the top" at the order of 
the major. 

"Second Battalion, Over!" came the command at 4:20, and there 
follov/ed the most exciting charge the outfit ever made. The first thin 
wave passed through the machine gun barrage, which was cutting a 
belt of underbrush half way down the hill. Then, right at the heels 
of the barrage, the thin line crossed the bottom land and charged up 
319. Lieutenant Cabla on the right flank was yelling like a crazy 
Mexican, waving his pistol as they do in the sixteen-reel serials. The 
men quickly picked up the spirit, and rushed the hill, yelling and 
shooting their rifles, automatics and rifle grenades as they advanced. 
This element of mob psychology was possibly the biggest factor in 
the winning of the battle. The arousal of such a spirit is most im- 
portant in any fight. This state of mind is a sort of mental intox- 
ication under the influence of which it is next to impossible to swerve 
those affected. It was a thin but wild Irish line which gave the fi- 
nal push and took the hill. 

Near the crest one of "F"s" officers had a narrow call and got his 
man. Two German officers, who had apparently left the machine 
gun about fifty yards farther up the trench, were making a final 
break to escape. Their line of retreat down the trench was toward 
the line of advance of the Yank in the thin first wave. Unless some- 
one was to be unusually courteous they seemed due to collide, or at 
least interfere. At each traverse-break in the line of a trench — the 
Germans ducked, and at every exposure the Yank took his turn and 
the 45 Colt did its bit. Finally after the Colt's fourth shot, one Ger- 
man dropped and the other threw up his hands, yelling "Kamerad," 
the American being then about twenty-five yards away. The expres- 
sion of the dying officer and of the other begging for his life are two 
indelible impressions in a memory of the uncanny experiences in 
France. Karl's pistol, field glasses and belt buckle with its inscrip- 
tion "Gott mit uns," are hidden away in the Yank's trunk along 
with his dug-outs, field guns, Paris views, and other souvenirs of 
"La Grande GueiTe." 

Few of the men who took part will ever forget the charge on Hill 
319. When the thin waves reached the crest, rabbits and Germans 
were abandoning trenches and dug-outs in a mad attempt to escape 
the crazy, yelling Americans. Preparations were immeditely made 
for a counter-attack but it never came. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 
An Eleventh-Hour Annistice 

While the bells and gongs of American towns and cities were an- 
nouncing the good news of the armistice, and the people back home 
were becoming intoxicated with joy and excitement, let us see what 
was happening at the battle front to the thousands of men most 
vitally concerned. The morning events and afternoon celebration 
of Company "F" and Its allied units were in sharp contrast to in- 
cidents at home. 

In the first place, there had been no hint of an armistice, even with 
the break of dawn on the eventful eleventh. In fact there had been 
no news of the world for several days. People at home always knew 
more of the progress and events of the war than did the men fighting 



AN EILEVENTH-HOUR ARMISTICE 45 

the battles; for, at least as far as news is concerned, conditions at 
the front were similar to those in a wilderness. 

Morning found Hill 319 and the surrounding knolls and valleys 
covered with a sea of dense fog. It was impossible either to note the 
lay of the land or to observe the positions of the enemy. However, 
a German map of the area, captured the day previous, gave the com- 
pany commander a good idea of the defenses and topography ahead. 

An early summons to the major's dugout resulted in the receipt 
of orders to advance toward Cote Romagne, the last hill and strong- 
est natural defense in the area. It lay across the wooded ravine di- 
rectly in front. "F" company was to form the first waves on the 
right flank, with "E" company on the left and "G" and "H" support- 
ing. A machine gun battalion was to support the advance with a 
strong overhead barrage. 

The battle order given below, handed to company commanders of 
second battalion on the morning of Armistice Day, ordered an 
advance and the capture of two positions already taken. Although 
319 and 328 had been captured on the 9th and 10th, the battalion 
must advance on the eleventh. Evidently those who formulated the 
order did not know just how far ahead the outfit had gone. 

From India One 

To Instruct One 

10 Nov., 1918 Oh 25 

The following message from Itaska One received OhlO is published 
for your information and compliance. 

"Our mission tomorrow unchanged. Divisional and Brigade Zone 
of Action unchanged. The 157th Brigade will attack Cote 328 at 6h 
and the 15 8th Brigade will make a demonstration against hills in its 
front at the same hour and will advance and occupy these hills if 
resistance is weak. 

The 5 2nd Field Artillery Brigade will put down a heavy concen- 
tration fire with centres of impact at 3 2.0-82.0 from 4th to 6h and 
lifting, will move concentration eastward along Cote 319, their fire 
to cease at 6h30. 

The Commanding General 157th Brigade will withdraw his front 
before 4h so as to insure their safety from this concentration of fire. 
The artillery m front of both the 157th and 158th Brigade will be 
used at the discretion of Brigade Commanders to facilitate the ac- 
complishment of our mission. After the taking of Cote 328, the 
troops will advance eastward on to 319, and will, by their fire of 
machine suns 37mm., and rifles, assist in the taking of hill in front 
of the 158th Brigade. 

After taking of Cote 328 and Cote 319, the 52nd F. A. Brigade 
will be prepared to assist in the taking of hill in front of the 158th 
Brigade. 

Advance P. C. 79th division— Former P. C. 315 Inf. near Mollville 
Farm. 

P. C. 157th Brigade 27.6-80.7 

All other positions of F. O. 35 these headquarters Nov. 9, 1918, 
unchanged. 

"Itaska One" 

India One authorizes you to call upon the 104th F. A. direct for 
any artillery fire program you deem necessary. 

"India Eleven" 

A deadly enemy barrage opened just before the start, with disas- 
trous effects to several groups and waves of "G" and "H" companies 
in support. 

In the fog, it was extremely difficult to keep the long waves ad- 
vancing In the proper direction and to keep them together on the 
hill or in the woods and swamp. 



46 UNDiEJR THE LORRAINE CROSS 

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Zing! Zing! Crack! Crack! Crack! 

The intense enemy machine gun barrage caught the advancing 
men just after clearing the woods and starting up the slope of Cote 
Romagne. The first bursts were over the troops' heads, for as the 
Germans told us after the armistice, they knew of the truce and were 
testing the seriousness of our intentions. 

But when a skirmish line had been formed behind a slight rise of 
ground and the men kept up a steady fire of rifles, automatics and 
rifle grenades, the Rhinelanders became angry, and began cutting 
up the dirt with more effective aim. There was still a dense fog so 
that the best any one could do was to fire into the haze in the direc- 
tion of the general line he judged the enemy to hold. 

For a short time the situation didn't look bad; but as the enemy 
range improved, the supply of ammunition rapidly decreased and no 
news whatever came from the major or "E" company on the left, the 
situation became a real problem. 

A runner from Lieutenant Cabla on the right reported that patrols 
had come in contact with the enemy on that flank but had seen no 
signs of friendly troops. Another report from the left flank stated 
that we had lost connection with "E" company, due to the failure of 
a sergeant to carry out specific orders to hold contact at any cost. 
Exposed flanks were highly uncomfortable even in a fog and would 
be extremely dangerous if the fog cleared and the enemy became 
aware of our unsupported position. 

Where was the major and why hadn't he dispatched any runners 
with orders? Should we advance in the face of the deadly fire or 
hold? How long would ammunition last and when would the fog 
clear? What had happened to "E" company on our left and to "G", 
our support? If necessary, could we fall back to a safer position 
without losing a number of men in the enemy machine gun and ar- 
tillery barrage that was falling behind? These were just a few of 
the things that had to be considered and decided as carefully and 
as quickly as possible. 

Runners were dispatched to the major, the rate of fire cut down 
to intermittent volleys, and attempts made to again locate the right 
flank of "E" company. 

Finally at 11:10 a. m. an exhausted runner, Latchet, crawled 
through the fog to the side of the company commander and gave his 
message: "War's over — 'Cease firing — major's orders." About the 
same moment Private Purcel was shot in the wrist. Very few 
seconds slipped by between the command "Cease Firing" and the 
turning of safety locks on the guns. 

At first there was a dead calm — no shells or bullets, but just the 
quiet of a peaceful countryside. But the calm quickly ended with 
the shouts and voices of excited and happy men. The end of the 
fighting had come in one of the darkest hours of the company's his- 
tory. 

The other companies of the battalion had received orders to fall 
back several hundred yards and to cease firing, but the runner dis- 
patched to "F" had never reached his destination. Men of the other 
companies had attempted to halt "F" company fire, but the noise of 
battle drowned their voices. The outfit killed one German after 
eleven and blew up a keg of their liquor with a rifle grenade. They 
in turn shot Purcel in the wrist. 

With the aid of a Pennsylvania /Dutchman, acting as interpreter, 
arrangements were made with the Germans to insure the end of 
strife. There was an exchange of cigarettes and wine, some snappy 
saluting by the clean-cut, neatly-uniformed Germans who held this 
position, and a rather hopeless attempt at conversation. No one 
seemed sorry that the war had ended. 



AN BLEVBNTH-HOUR ARMISTICE 47 

Later, lines were established, with orders from headquarters to 
prevent intermingling or fraternizing with the enem.y as it was only 
an armistice. 

The experience of big Schaffer, West Virginia lumber jack — as told 
by his friends — is too good to omit. He had acted as scout in the 
morning advance, and was caught about fifty yards ahead of the 
company when the intense fire first began. Sheltered in a shell hole, 
Schaffer made his automatic rifle cough up streams of bullets as only 
a good gunner can. The pile of empties kept growing rapidly, and 
just as fast did his ammunition decrease. Finally, the gun went 
wrong — the works were "jimmed" according to the modest hero. 
Casually strolling back through the fog, spitting tobacco juice as he 
came, he kneeled beside his sergeant and asked him to give the gun 
the "once-over." The sergeant as well as the men nearby were 
hugging the ground as closely as possible in order to avoid the re- 
peated sweeps of bullets just overhead. 

"D — n it, man, get down or they'll get you," yelled the Sergeant. 

"Oh! H 1, Sarg, they can't bother me," came the laconic reply. 

His gun fixed, Schaffer strolled back to his hole with his lumber- 
jack stride and kept it workiU;^ at record speed until 11:10 a. m. 
Then they found Schaffer sitting in a hole beside a big pile of empties 
chewing his cud and resting peacefully as if he had just quit using a 
pick and shovel. The company credited him with being the farthest 
man ahead in the whole A. E. F. when the firing ceased. 

The night of November 11, 1918, was as wierd as the night of 
the ride with the Chinese truck driver on the first trip to the front. 
The one marked the end of the struggle and the other the first initia- 
tion of the Lorraine Cross Division into active service. 

On armistice night thousands of vari-colored star shells, shot from 
German and American signal pistols, outlined the final battle posi- 
tions as far as the eye could trace the line of fireworks; in no more 
effective way could one be impressed with the embarrassment of that 
final position than by this long curved line of exploding fireworks 
signals. One could easily see that the battalion was at the point of 
a dangerous salient, with the flank support a mile back on either 
side. Giving the German officers full credit for their statements, 
Cote Romagne had been defended with four machine companies and 
a strong force of infantry. The weakened battalion had apparently 
faced nothing short of capture or severe loss, if the fog had cleared 
and exposed conditions, and the fighting had lasted much longer. 

From the German camp fires on the steep slope of Cote Romagne 
came the voices of an excellent quartet singing "Silent Night, Holy 
Night" in the German tongue. The song sounded beautiful, but out 
of keeping with the location and conditions. Sitting around the 
blazing camp fires — the first in the battle area for several years — 
there was a great deal of tobacco chewing, smoking and telling of 
jokes and stories. Those who sat silent, back in the shadows, or 
gazing into the coals of the fire, were probably dreaming of home, 
loved ones, and of the time when they could again live like real 
human beings, and get away from the nightmare of war. 

The celebration of the men who had the greatest cause to make 
merry was in sharp contrast to the gay parades and fetes of Broad- 
way, New York, of the Paris Boulevards or the London Strand. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Doughboys in Their Native Haunts 

The eleventh-hour truce had abruptly ended a bombardment of 
singing bullets and screeching shrapnel. It was the turning point 



48 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

of a delicate situation. However, the sudden cessation of battle 
noises marked the beginning of a different sort of bombardment, 
and ushered in a period which explains the origin of the words 
"doughboy" and "mudmucker" common in army vocabulary. 

During the six weeks intervening between the armistice and 
Christmas, the outfit was bombarded with barrage after barrage of 
inspections by "medics" and by officers whom the doughboys had 
never seen in the battle lines; by messes of stewed or baked canned 
"Willy" or "gold fish" — salmon — either camouflaged or ungarnish- 
ed; by mass attacks of cooties and their relatives, the German fleas; 
and by the monotonous, noiseless, sham fights on the muddy slopes 
of hills captured in real battles. These mimic battles, which the 
men called "play war," were staged under the galling criticism of 
occupants of Dodge cars who had never heard the whines of Ger- 
man calling cards sent over by enemy guns in the battles recently 
fought. 

In the dirty shacks of La Chanois, later in the dark, damp holes 
and dugouts of the hillside near Ville, and, finally, in the abandon- 
ed, rickety, German barracks near Moriraont farm, we find the 
doughboy living in his native haunts. In hikes, drills and sham 
battles the infantry man kneads the doughy, yellow mud of road 
and hillside, and thereby wins his titles. 

Immediately following the armist.ce, Fritz, Wilhelm and all their 
friends began a hasty move toward Ueutschland and the Rhine. The 
roadside displays of helmets, ammunition, and weapons of various 
sorts were the best evidence of their record advance — toward home 
and country. American soldiers who followed the enemy during the 
march of occupation claim to have purchased tanks, trucks and field 
kitchens for bars of soap and cans of "Willy." 

During the same period, scattered groups of ragged and famished 
soldiers of all the allied armies streamed over the wasted country- 
side toward Verdun, returning from German prison camps. Miser- 
able groups of Italians, Russians, French, English, Canadians. 
Americans, Algerians and others were picked up by scouts and 
patrols and conducted to division headquarters to be forwarded to 
Verdun. It was no uncommon sight to see one of these wretched 
victims of war snatch up bits of food from garbage containers or 
smoke cigarette stubs thrown away by men of the company. Many 
of the poor fellows seemed willing to sell their souls for a can of 
beans or despised corned beef. 

The retreat of the Germans and the influx of returned prisoners 
was followed by five weeks of existence brightened only by the hope 
of a return home some time before the division would be retired for 
long service and the men sent to old soldiers' homes. 

The monotonous hours of waiting were marked off one by one by 
the various occupations connected with the life of any doughboy in 
the native haunts of his species. Duck-boards had to be anchored in 
front of the barracks so that the company line could keep out of the 
lake of ooze at reveille and retreat. Lights must be improvised of 
shoe grease and of wicks made of worn-out socks, in order to add a 
little cheer to the cold, wet, December nights. Between inspections 
and drills one could occupy quite a little time either battling cooties 
and fleas or cultivating their close acquaintance. Seemingly more 
than one soldier felt that he owed debts of gratitude to these friends. 
One naturally would feel that it would be highly ungrateful to cause 
even the slightest discomfort to a pet flea which had saved your life 
by causing you to suddenly stoop over to scratch an ankle, just as a 
one-pounder shell cut the space which your head had occupied. 
Rusted razor blades, already thrice rejuvenated, must again be 
brought to life; worn and torn clothing mended and re-mended, and 



DOUGHBOYS IN NATIVE HAUNTS 49 

bits of food picked off the floor of the shack which the "medics" 
called a dining hall. Or one could collect souvenirs from the great 
display scattered over the countryside, and send the promised hel- 
mets to friends back home — by way of division headquarter's inspec- 
tors. Oddly enough many a souvenir enthusiast arrived home be- 
fore either the souvenirs or notices of his death in action. Some 
of the men still insist that the War Department sent their loved 
ones false reports. However they are more concerned with the hel- 
mets and other souvenirs never received. 

With the aid of the cheerful yarns told by tall, lank Slim Fogerty, 
the newly-assigned "shavetail", the outfit existed through the weary 
days, swallowed their Thanksgiving corned "Willy" with a grin, and 
prepared to move to the rear of the battle area. 

But Slim Fogerty must not be so easily disposed of. It would be 
unfair to the modest hero to fail to mention some of his brave deeds. 

After Slim had patiently listened to a Major's or Captain's ac- 
count of some very interesting experience, told either at officers' 
mess or some informal session, he would generally begin a tale with 
the words, "That was nothing, sir, to what I experienced several 
months ago." 

According to his choice selection of yarns the man was an un- 
recognized, undecorated hero. Once this modern knight errant had 
ridden over enemy lines with a consumptive aviator who cared noth- 
ing for his life. "We flew so close to the infantry that we could 
look right into their eyes and see their expressions of fright and hate. 
That time we came back with ninety-three bullet holes in our wings," 
cheerfully admitted the modest hero. 

Another time they had taken a photograph of enemy territory, 
which when viewed right side up was too indistinct to be worth 
while, but when examined wrong side up was so distinct that peach 
trees and cherry trees could easily be distinguished by the pictures 
of their buds. 

These are just fair samples of the infinite number of interesting 
tales which Slim told so often that he believed them himself. 

Finally, the day after Christmas, the outfit began its three-day 
hike to a village back of Verdun. The inarch led through Death 
Valley, M'here Sergeant Hesse's grave was located, then to Verdun, 
and, finally, along the Meuse River, and across country to Rosnes, 
our new home near Bar-le-Duc. 



CHAPTER XX. 
"Bonne Chance!" 

At Rosnes Captain Fowler, the Missisaippian, took command of 
the company. It would be difficult to say who was the more popular 
— Fowler or Schoge. 

The outstanding event — because it was pleasant — of life in this 
village was undoubtedly the hilarious "F" company celebration. This 
is a story of a home-talent show with a cognac stimulus, given in a 
little "Y" shack on the outskirts of the village. The company had 
a fund which it preferred to spend rather than give to someone else. 
The outfit was nearing its last days and decided to have a final 
spree. So a banquet and show became the order of the day. A lone- 
some village porker was available for the small sum of two hundred 
dollars — ^but as we didn't buy the pig he doesn't figure in the story. 

Tyson, the "chow" sergeant and expert "jangler" of French 
Patois, hustled in Bar-Le-Duc and corralled several articles of food 
which had neither the smell, taste nor appearance of "Willy", beans. 



.50 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

macaroni, or gold fish. Fury, whose favorite color was green, with 
the aid of his talented assistants, collected and coached all the "ham" 
actors in the company and made up a male musical comedy that 
turned out to be a scream. 

There was also a sinister plot connected with the whole affair — 
but that will be exposed at the proper time. 

The show was a wonder! The lumber-jack and coal-miner actors, 
completely cured of stage fright — there had been a session of cognac 
behind the curtain — forgot about the audience and gave a presenta- 
tion of Virginia reels, darky songs, moonshine jokes, and army satire 
which sent worries and broodings racing. 

The "Loco in the Cocoa" song by the crazy sailor, Oliver; the "Oh! 
Marie, My Marie" ditty given in Italian by the Irishman Marsicano, 
and accompanied by McAtee's "Jig-a-jig-jig"; the quips about our 
beloved new "Meddc" and his fumigated, chlorinated and sterilized 
pans of water on the hillside — these were but a few of the features 
of a show which had a strong cognac punch. 

Our wily friend, Monsieur, le Slum — he of the bean wagon — after 
all his promises to the "Y" man to keep the banquet free of cognac 
and benzine, doctored each cup of coffee with a "shot" of the vile 
cognac. And apparently the "Y" man still thinks it was a prohibi- 
tion banquet. That unfolds the plot. 

Aside from the dodging of sentinels after taps, searching for 
buglers and pan-pounders in sham battles, and learning the ways 
of the mademoiselles there was not a great deal of interest that hap- 
pened in Rosnes. 

But who of those present have forgotten the time when the 
keeper of records, Treas, threw a harmless looking piece of paper in 
the blazing fireplace, and caused a six-cylinder panic. The incident 
happened in the orderly room during a most serious conference of 
sergeants and officers. The corporal, possibly crazed for the moment 
as the result of the dead monotony of making out sick reports and 
monthly returns, interrupted the important deliberation by throw- 
ing a roll of paper in the fireplace. The shower of sparks and stubs, 
and the dense clouds of smoke, gave those present most of the famil- 
iar sensations of a barrage or gas attack. It might be casually men- 
tioned that the roll of paper contained at least a quart of powder 
taken from dismounted shells. 

At Rosnes the author was assigned to duty at University of Paris 
in the hardest sector in France. The remainder of the account is 
taken from the diary of the company's guardian of crimson tape and 
pay cards, the company clerk. 

Sergeant Brunstetter was promoted to First Sergeant at Seignulles. 
In the lines, as well as in billet areas, this man possessed and made 
use of a faculty which too many military men of authority lacked 
— a constant regard for men as men and not as mere rifle bearers. 

The clerk's diary gives the following outline of "F's" final stop- 
Ing points: 

Seignulles, near Rosnes, usual routine of inspections, crap 
games, "triple sec" revivals, drills, parades, mud, rain, and rumors. 
A new "top-kicker" appointed. A Sergeant stole a Louie's Made- 
moiselle. A sentinel wandered off his beat and was lost out in the 
country. 

Seignulles to St. Blin — March 27 to March 31. Distance 83 kilo- 
meters. Inspection at Chaumont in drizzling rain. Only one officer 
left with company. 

St. Blin to Reimacourt — April 22. 

Reimacourt to Cholet, April 22 to 24, in box cars labeled "Take 
'em home." Some of these cars were made in Berwick, the home 
town of many of the boys. 



"BONNE CHANCE!" 51 

Cholet to BegroUes, a clean, picturesque village. 

Begrolles to St. Nazaire, the port of embarkation. Final inspec- 
tion of equdpment at Camp No. 2, Delousing process and phi^sical 
examinations at Camp No. 1. 

St. Nazaire to Hoboken — May 16 to 26. Ten day voyage on the 
"Princess Matoika." No subs to worry about. 

Hoboken to Camp Dix, N. J. — May 26. Discharged May 28 — with 
a little bonus and a ticket for the home town and its waiting brass 
band. 

With a "Bonne Chance" or wish for good luck, the pals and bud- 
dies of "Pop" Schoge's old outfit bade farewell to their Lorraine 
Cross brother-in-arms, and called a halt to the biggest adventure 
and greatest experience in most of their lives. Today, in various 
parts of our country, the ex-doughboys may be found pursuing their 
peace-time occupations of boot-legging, mining, lumber jacking, 
raising families, serving terms, teaching school, or even drilling in 
the ranks of the home-town guard. 

This ends the simple account of an experience that is indelibly 
stamped upon the memories of infantrymen of a military unit that 
was quite representative of the men of the United States Army of 
the World War, 




APPENDIX 



HONOR liOLL OF BUDDIES WHO "WENT WEST" IN FRANCE 
KiUed in Action 



Vought, Reginald E. 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Mess. Sgt. 


Hess, Earl D. 


Nov. 9, 1918 


Mess. iSgt. 


McCawley, John 


Sept. 26, 1918 


Sergeant 


Herlikofer, Howard 


Nov. 10, 1918 


Bugler 


Baer, Charles W. 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Private 


Gilbert, Noble H. 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Private 


Jones, Alfred 


Nov. 8, 1918 


Private 


Jones, Stanley 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Private 


Moone, Harry 


Nov. 10, 1918 


Private 


Bjorkland, Alex 


Nov. 10, 1918 


Private 


McMonagle, Hugh 


Nov. 10, 1918 


Private 


Schneider, Phillip 


Nov. 10, 1918 


Private 


Schuler, August 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Private 


Shade, Charles 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Private 


Weber, Charles 


Sept. 27, 1918 


Private 


Yoder, Charles 


Sept. 28, 1918 


Private 


Zimmerman, George 


Nov. 10, 1918 
Died of Wounds 


Private 


Connolly, James 


Sept. 28, 1918 


Sergeant 


Clapham, Charles 


Sept. 28, 1918 


Private 


Page, Clarence 


Sept. 28, 1918 


Private 


Paroonagain, Looren 


Sept. 28, 1918 


Private 


Kern, Laird E. 


Nov. 10, 1918 


Private 


Lackhove, Harry 


(Gas wounds) 
Died of Disease 


Private 


Weil, Harleigh 


Oct. 16, 1918 


Private 


Elliot, George 


Oct. 25, 1918 


Private 



Wounded in Action 



Rebuck, Walter, 2nd Lieutenant 
Fenstermacher, W. L., Sergeant 
Diehl, Sebastian, Corporal 
Eells, John E., Corporal 
Hockenberry, William, Corporal 
Lilja, Erick, Corporal 
Moore, William, Corporal 
Neyhardt, Fred, Corporal 
Norkunski, William, Corporal 
Norton, Daniel, Corporal 
Purcel, Charles, Corporal 
Richards, Roy, Corporal 
Shipe, Clayton, Corporal 
Stamm, John, Corporal 



Clark, Harry W., Private 
Connelly, John, Private 
Detrich, Herbert, Private 
Douty, Reuben, Private 
Harter, Ashur, Private 
Heisler, Howard, Private 
Hirschel, Henry J., Private 
Jones, Richard, Private 
Loftus, Peter, Private 
Mahan, William J., Private 
Marstellar, Edwin, Private 
Ness, Raymond, Private 
Schuk, Victor, Private 
Snyder, Robert, Private 



APPENDIX 



53 



Tucker, Francis, Corporal 
Wargo, Michael, Corporal 
Williamson, William, Corporal 
Bekish, Walter, Private 
Brody, Julius, Private 
CalaJbretta, Rocco, Private 
Champa, Frank, Private 

SheU 

Killion, Daniel, Sergeant 
Bauer, Peter C, Private 
McAdams, Francis, Private 



Tamasaweiz, John, Private 
Tombasco, Angelo, Private 
Uchis, Walter, Private 
Whehrle, William, Private 
Whitmore, Harvey, Private 
Williams, Harvey, Private 
Witmer, Ralph, Private 

Shocked 

Bentz, Clarence, Private 
Hoffman, Claude, Private 



Changes and Transfers 

Losses of Officers 
Captain Promoted to Major 

1st. Lt. Reclassified at Bois 

1st. Lt. Scout Officer 2nd Army 

1st. Lt. Transferred to 3rd Army 

1st. Lt. University of Paris 

2nd Lt, Wounded in Action. 

2nd Lt. Transferred to Machine Gun Co. 

2nd Lt. Transferred to Co. E. 

Attending O. T. S. at Camp Meade 

Distelhurst, Frank 
Moorehead, Curtis 
Schafer, Harry 

Attended A. E. P. University 

Schoffstall, Allen 



Schoge, Theodore 
Carter, Louis 
Flood, Thomas B. 
Walker, Edward 
Joel, Arthur H. 
Rebuck, Walter 
Williams, Clifford 
Pierce, Leslie 

Men 
Spaide, Albert 
Herbine, Fred 
Huff, Harry 
Bowman, Harry 

Douty, Reuben 
Miller, Lawrence 

Attended Trinity College, England 

Brosha, Lawrence 

Toured Battlefields with Reporters 

Stackhouse, Ray L. Breul, Albert 

Received D. S. C. 

German, Raymond S., Private 

Mentioned in Division Orders 



Cable, Joseph, 2nd Lt. 
McCawley, John, Sergeant 
Tyson, Ralph, Sergeant 
Shafer, William E., Private 



McAtee, Albert, Corporal 
Concannon, Patrick, Private 
German, Raymond S., Private 



STATION LIST OF COMPANY "F" SINCE ITS ARRIVAL AT 
BREST, FRANCE, JULY 15, 1918 
Station Date of Arrival Date of Departure 

Brest, Finistere July 15 July 19 

Laignes, Cote d'Or July 22 July 22 

Puits, Cote d'Or July 23 July 24 

Frettes, Haute Marne July 25 Sept 8 

La Ferte, Haute Marne Sept 8 Sept 9 

Bois de Brocourt, Meuse Sept 14 Sept 15 

Bois de Hesse, Meuse 

In Action (Argonne Drive) 
(From Sept. 26-3'Oth at Avincourt, Malancourt, Montfaucon, Nan- 
tillois.) 



54 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

Station Date of Arrival Date of Departure 

Bois de Hesse Oct 1 Oct 3 

Bois de Senicourt, Meuse Oct 4 Oct 4 

Bois, near Recourt, Meuse Oct 5 Oct 5 

Rupt, Meuse Oct 5 Oct 11 

Bois de Womby, Meuse Oct 11 Oct 12 

Tilly, Meuse Oct 12 Oct 22 

Grand Trenches de Cal Oct 22 Oct 22 

Tilly Oct 22 Oct 24 

Sommedieu Oct 24 Oct 27 

Lempire Oct 28 Oct 28 

23.1-63.9-Dugouts Oct 28 Oct 29 

Bois de Forges Oct 30 Oct 3 1 

In Action October 31 to November 11 at Bois de Chenes, Moirey. 
Crepion, Hills 328 and 319, Cote Romagne. 

Bois La Comte Nov 11 Nov 27 

Cote de Morimont (near Damvilliers) . .Nov 27 Dec 26 

Verdun Dec 2 6 (Dec 27 

La Chanois Dec 27 Dec 27 

Rosnes Dec 28 Mar 27 

Seignulles Mar 31 Apr 22 

St. Blin Apr 22 Apr 22 

Reimacourt Apr 24 

Cholet May 16 

St. Nazaire May 26 May 26 

Hoboken May 26 

Camp Dix, N. J. 

Company Disbanded May 28, 1919. 



LETTER BY GENERAL PERSHING 

Extract from a letter sent by General Pershing to General -Kuhn, 
commanding 79th Division. This settles the dispute as to who 
captured Montfaucon. 

"In the Meuse-Argonne offensive the division had its full share of 
hard fighting. Entering the line for the first on September 26th as 
the right of the center corps it took part in the beginning of the 
great Meuse-Argonne offensive. By September 2 7th it had captured 
the strong position of Montfaucon, and in spite of heavy reaction, 
the Bois de Beuge and Nantillois were occupied. On September 30th 
it was relieved, having advanced ten kilometers. It again entered 
the battle on October 29th, relieving as part of the 17th French 
Corps, the 29th Division in the Grande Montague section to the 
east of the Meuse River. From that time until the armistice went 
into effect, it was almost constantly in action. On November 9th 
Crepion, Wayreville and Gibercy were taken, and in conjunction with 
elements on the right and left, Etraye and Moirey were invested. On 
November 10th, Chaumont-devant Damvilliers was occupied and on 
November 11th Ville-devant-Chaumont was taken, a total advance 
of 9% kilometers. 

This is a fine record for any division and I want the officers and 
men to know this and to realize how much they have contributed to 
the success of our arms. They may return home justly proud of 
themselves and of the part they have played in the American Ex- 
peditionary Forces. 

Sincerely yours, 

JOHN J. PERSHING. 



APPENDIX 55 

THE BATTLE OF MONTFAUOON FROM AN AEROPLANE 

Description of 79th Division fighting near Montfaucon, as seen 
by an aviator Lieutenant J. C. Eaton (from a magazine article by 
Lieutenant Eaton). 

"We headed for Montfaucon on its rocky eminence, passing 
through the line of balloons on our way. Reachin;; Montfaucon we 
saw the 79th had it in their possession, as numerous caissons, driven 
by two horses each, were going at a gallop into the town. 

Montfaucon was a mass of ruined walls dominated by its ruined 
cathedral. Circling this, we turned west and noticed a number of 
great black German shells bursting beneath us. Continuing, we saw 
a sight neither of us can ever forget. 

Northwest of the town lay a large wood, known as Bois de 
Beuge. Between this and Montfaucon, American tanks were creep- 
ing forward in an open mass. Behind them were hundreds of in- 
fantry in extended formation, lying in lines, and advancing by rush- 
es over the hollows to throw themselves headlong behind the next 
ridge. As they rushed we could see many fall and lie, crumpled and 
still in the open. A stiff attack by the 79th Division was in progress 
against the Bois de Beuge." 

* * :t: * * 

COPY OF GERMAN PROPAGANDA 

Extract from German propaganda, dropped over Co. P by a Ger- 
man aviator. 

"Get out and dash to safety! If you don't, you stand a slim 
chance of ever seeing Broadway or the old home again. 

The Wall Street millionaires may like this war, because they are 
becoming billionaires. But you will have to pay for it all, my boy. 

PAY FOR IT WITH YOUR BLOOD AND TAXES, and the tears 
of your loved ones at home. 

Don't give up your life till you have to and don't give any more 
labor for the benefit of the money trust! Quit it!" 

***** 

LIST OF NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF "F" CO. COMRADES 

* Names taken from passenger lists of "Princess Matoika." 

§ Names taken from return post cards. 

* Fowler, Forrest . . . .Captain Natchez, Mississippi 

§Joel, Arthur H 1st. Lieut East Lansing, Mich. 

§Cabla, Joseph 2nd Lieut.. .1310 Walker Ave., Houston, Tex. 

*Raymond, Carl A. . .2nd Lieut Phillips, Wis. 

* Hughes, Fred 2nd Lieut Bloomsburg, Pa. 

§Brunstetter, Guy . . .1st Sergeant. 1574 Addison Rd., Cleveland, O. 

*Tyson, Ralph O Mess Sergeant Milton, Pa. 

*Stackhouse, Ray S. .Supply Sergeant Berwick, Pa. 

§Bird, John E Sergeant Riverside, Pa. 

§Birt, Alfred Sergeant Moore, Pa., Box 162 

§Brittain, Jay Sergeant Stillwater, R. I. 

§Dallas, James Sergeant 2432 N. Opal St., Phila., Pa. 

§ Davis, Roy L Sergeant. . . .310 E. Miller St., Elmira, N. Y. 

*Fenstermacher, W. .Sergeant Berwick, Pa. 

§Kenney, John L. . . .Sergeant . . . .533 N. Brighton St., Phila, Pa. 

§Kitchen, John H. . . .Sergeant Berwick, Pa. 

*Shipe, Clayton Sergeant . . .Berwick, Pa. 

*Sweeney, John J. . . .Sergeant. .601 W. Penn. St., Shenandoah, Pa. 

§Treas, Earl Sergeant Berwick, Pa. 

§Ward, William Sergeant 3322 Creswell St., Phila., Pa. 

*Alexanian, Horoutiyon .Corporal 80 Lexington Ave., Phila., Pa. 

§ Bower, Homer Corporal R. 1, Milton, Pa. 



56 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

*Brady, Paul Corporal 1623 N. 17th St., Phila. Pa. 

*Clark, Harry Corporal Moosup, Conn. 

*Ddehl, Sebastian . . . .Corporal Jenklnstown, Pa. 

*Dorward, Samuel . .Corporal Slatedale, Pa. 

§Furey, Frank Corporal. .3035 Ocean Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

*Harkness, John . . . .Corporal Glenmore, Pa. 

*Heisler, Howard . . . Corporal Halifax, Pa. 

*Ilpman, Louis Corporal .... 112 Bergen St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

*Kisner, Frank Corporal Millville, Pa. 

Lees, George Corporal 

§Loos, John Corporal Fairview Village, Pa. 

*Lydon, Michael . . . .Corporal Minooka, Pa. 

*McAtee, Albert Corporal Clarksburg, W. Va. 

*Moore, W. V Corporal R. 3, Olarksburg, W. V. 

*Nugent, Joseph ....Corporal 1121 Quarrier, Charleston, W. Va. 

§Quinlan, William. . . .Corporal Westerley, R. 1. 

*ReigIe, Chas Corporal Bloomsburg, Pa. 

* Rider, Jacob Corporal Catawissa, Pa. 

§ Scheneberg, John . . Corporal Huntington, W. Va. 

*iSeipler, George . . . .Corporal Laquin, Pa. 

§Semmel, Herman . . .Corporal Nepp, Pa. 

*Snyder, Fred Corporal Hokendauqua, Pa. 

§Steans, Robert Corporal R. 2, Allendale, N. J. 

* Stevens, Charles . . . Corporal Edenville, Pa. 

§Suscavage, Frank . . Corporal Shenandoah, Pa. 

*Ungard, Fred Corporal Allenwood, Pa. 

*Wagner, Fred Corporal. . . .223 Willow Ave., Honesdale, Pa. 

§ Williams, W. H Corporal Wiconisco, Pa. 

*Brunner, Paul Cook 124 N. Milton St.. Phila., Pa. 

§Drasher, Gordon . . .Cook R. 2, Newport, Pa. 

*Hayes, Albert Cook 1667 S. 55th St., Phila., Pa. 

§'9itler, Karl Cook East Prospect, Pa. 

*Morse, Harry Bugler Fairview, Oklahoma 

♦Slovick, John Bugler 22 Turkey Run, Shenandoah, Pa. 

*Barndt, Albert Private 1st Class Bethlehem, Pa. 

§Boop, Harry Private 1st Class. . .Glen Iron, Pa., Union Co. 

§Boyer, Frank Private 1st Class Mijlmont, Pa. 

*Calabretta, Rocco. . . Private 1st Class Clarksburg, W. Va. 

*Colasante, Tony . . . .Private 1st Class 

*Comfort, Veard . . . .Pvt. 1st Class. .1138 N. George St., York, Pa. 

♦Coppersmith, M Pvt. 1st Class Egypt, Pa. 

*Douty, Reuben . . . .Pvt. 1st Class Alto, Va. 

*Dubendorf, John . . .Pvt. 1st Class Elizabethville, Pa. 

*Ebert, Anthony . . . .Pvt. 1st Cfass R. 1, Dorrancetown, Pa. 

*Fancher, Loyd Pvt. 1st Class Montrose, Pa. 

§Harman, Edward . . .Pvt. 1st Class Wiconisco, Pa. 

*Izzo, Louis Pvt. 1st C. .2519 E. 16, Sheephead Bay, N. Y. 

§Jarrett, George . . . .Pvt. 1st C. %M. A. Belcher, Charlest'n, W. Va. 

*Kotolup, Nikito . . . .Pvt. 1st Class Berwick, Pa. 

§Krause, Granville . .Pvt. 1st Class Slatington, Pa. 

§Lachat, Charles Pvt. 1st C. 213 Queen Lane, Germantown, Pa. 

*Lauer, John Pvt. 1st Class Walnutport, Pa. 

* Mitchell, Vance Pvt. 1st Class Roanoke, Va. 

*Moyer, George Pvt. 1st Class Womllsdorf, Pa. 

*McVey, Barnard . . . .Pvt. 1st Class. 136 Dupont St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

*Nickles, Harry Pvt. 1st Class Schuyler, Pa. 

*Novack, William. . . . Pvt. 1st Class Hudson, Pa. 

§Ogren, Aaron Pvt. 1st Class Barrington, R. I. 

§ Pendleton, George . .Pvt. 1st Class Westerly R. I. 

*Ruch, Edgar Pvt. 1st Class R. No. 1, Copely, Pa. 



APPENDIX 57 

§Ruhl, Daniel Pvt. 1st Class Sunbury, Pa. 

isearc'h, Warren . . . .Pvt. 1st Class Shickshinny. Pa. 

§Slieckler, Harry . . . .Pvt. 1st Class Slatington, Pa. 

♦Smith, Almon Pvt. 1st C. Coyle St. & Ave Z, Sheepshead 

Bay, N. Y. 

§ Smith, Chas. J Pvt. 1st Class Mercersburg, Pa. 

§ Smith, Chas. T Pvt. 1st Class Berwick, Pa. 

♦Sullivan, Chas Pvt. 1st Class, 30 Edward St. Newport, R. I. 

*Tepe, George Pvt. 1st C, 2672 Ocean Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

§Tickton, Nathan . . . .Pvt. 1st Class Woonsocket, R. I. 

*Tyson, George Pvt. 1st C, 3438 N. 2nd St., Philadelphia. Pa. 

§ Wilson, Melton . . . .Pvt. 1st Class R. 2, Kennedy, Ala. 

§Witmer, Geo Pvt. 1st Glass Allenwood, Pa. 

* Young, Chas Pvt. 1st Class W. Catasauqua, Pa. 

"Zayon, Louis Pvt. 1st Class, 525 McClellan St., Phila., Pa. 

♦Arnold, Frank Pvt Diavisville, R. I. 

* Barron, John Pvt Clarksburg, W. Va. 

§Bruel, Albert Pvt.. . 25 Fruit Hill Ave., Provincetown, R. I. 

♦Coles, Edward Pvt Williamstown, Pa. 

§Concannon, Pat . . . .Pvt 546 4t"h St., Fall River, Mass. 

♦Crossley, John Pvt '. Cranston, R. I. 

♦Deitrick, John Pvt Wicinisco, Pa. 

♦Espositio, Valentino. Pvt 1410 Gaugh St., Baltimore, Md. 

♦Falce, Vincenzo . . . .Pvt Casaletto, Spartano, Italy. 

§Geissinger, Fred . . . .Pvt Zionsville, Pa. 

♦Gerth, Harry Pvt 4 Roberg Place, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

♦German, Ray Pvt Slatedale, Pa. 

♦Brown, Joseph Pvt Norwich, Conn. 

§Granan, Ray Pvt.. .2602 E. 26th St., Sheepshead Bay, N. Y. 

♦Groom, John Pvt 5653 Heiskill St., Philadelphia, Pa. 

♦Kane, Robt Pvt Hokendauqua, Pa. 

♦Lain, Joseph Pvt 383 Swan St., Buffalo, N. Y. 

§ Leaser, Maurice . , Pvt R. 3, Allentown, Pa. 

♦Lesure, John Pvt., . . .3152 North St., Clarksburg, W. Va. 

♦Librizzi, Natale . . . .Pvt. 

♦Mack, Russel Pvt Slateda.'e, Pa. 

♦Madaio, John Pvt 153 S. Wells St., Wilkes Barre, Pa. 

♦Marsicano, Joseph . .Pvt Berwick, Pa. 

§Mahan, William . . . .Pvt 39 Extension St., Newport, R. I. 

§ Matter, Mark Pvt Elizabethville, Pa. 

♦MoDermott, James . .Pvt Titusville, Pa. 

♦McKinney, Joseph . .Pvt Bretz, W. Va. 

♦Miclette, Walter. . . . pvt 371 Bernside Ave., Woonsocket, R. I. 

§ Miller, Arthur V. . . . Pvt Millersburg, Pa. 

§ Miller, Lawrence . . .pvt Dover, N. J. 

♦Murphy, John Pvt 440 Wright's Court, Scranton, Pa. 

♦Nallie, Geo Pvt Princeton, 111. 

§Neild, Harry Pvt Lonsdale, R. I. 

♦Rathfun, Fred . . . .Pvt Lewisburg, Pa, 

§Rau, Robt Pvt Hamburg, Pa. 

♦Reppert, Dan Pvt 238 Locust St., Allentown, Pa. 

♦Roberts, Richard . . .Pvt Slatington, Pa. 

♦Rositti, Milli Pvt Port Allegheny, Pa. 

§'Roush, Harley Pvt Winfield, Pa. 

♦Sand, Geo Pvt.. .3636 Pennsylvania Ave., St. Louis, Mo. 

♦Shaefer, Robert Pvt Ill Verplanck St., Buffalo, N. Y. 

§Schoffstall, Allen . .Pvt Gratz, Pa. 

♦Schuck, Victor Pvt Emerald, Pa. 

♦Schulman, Morris. . . Pvt. . .542 Willoughby Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y. 
♦Schulmann, Samuel .Pvt 1533 Minford Place, New York City 



58 UNDER THE LORRAINE CROSS 

*Scotti, Nicolo Pvt Red Bank, N. J. 

§Sensiinger, Edward . Pvt Slatington, Pa. 

*Sharp, Harry Pvt Fredericksburg, Pa. 

§Shelmerdine, Ernest Pvt : Auburn, R. I. 

§Shenton, Frank .... Pvt Slatedale, Pa. 

*-Simmen,' Chas Pvt t° Dooley St.^ Brooklyn, N. Y. 

*Smarto, Mathie Pvt 72 Columbia St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

§Snyder, Robt Pvt Red Hill, Pa., R. 1 

♦Stoddard, Frank . . .Pvt Owings, So. Carolina 

*Sublette, Jesse Pvt Star Route, Phenix, W. Va. 

♦Taggert, James .... Pvt East Greenwich, R. I. 

*Tubino, Eaeser Pvt 20-24 Hancock St., New York City 

§Tuthill, Henry Pvt Lake Ronconkoma, N. Y. 

* Williams, James Pvt Valley Falls, R. I. 

* Williams, John ....Pvt 73 Appleton St., Pawtucket, R. I. 

§Wineka, Harry Pvt R. 6, York, Pa. 

§Wolf, Norman Pvt Northhampton, Pa. 

§ Wolfe, Henry J Pvt Keetztown, Pa. 

*Wolfinger, Francis. . Pvt Perkasie, Pa. 

*Wolowitz, Joseph. . . .Pvt 225 E. 95th St., New York City 

*Wrispen, Frank . . . .Pvt 8687 2nd Ave.. New York, City 

§ Wygel, Frank Pvt 227 Fulton St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 

§Zellers, Dan Pvt Fulton, Pa. 

§Zepp, Edwin Pvt Red Hill, Montgomery Co., Pa. 

* Douglas, Fred Pvt Lonesdale, R. I. 

ADDITIONAL ADDRESSES 

§Schoge, Theodore . .Captain. 345th Bn. Tanks, Camp Meade, Md. 

SMuhlenburg, Fred . .Captain 807 Flander's Bldg., Phila. Pa. 

§Rebuck, Walter .... Lieut Shippensburg, Pa. 

SiSpaide, Albert .... Lieut Berwick, Pa. 

§Destelhurste, Frank. Lieut Berwick, Pa, 

§Moorehead, Curtis ..Lieut 1925 Jackson St., Scranton, Pa. 

§Brosha, Lawrence. . . Corporal Milton, Pa. 

§Filipovitz, Stanley. . . Corporal Forrest City, Pa. 

§Neyhart, Fred Corporal Berwick, Pa. 

§Richards, Roy Corporal. ... 5029 Florence Ave., Phila., Pa. 

§Stamm, John Corporal Berwick, Pa. 

§Killion, Daniel Sergeant 148 N. Paxon St., PhiJa., Pa. 

§Heinley, Fred Private Schnecksville, Pa. 

§Loftu.s, Peter Private Roxsborough, Pa. 

§Remley, Howard . . .Private Berwick, Pa. 

HOMES OF KIN OF DEAD COMRADES 

§ Connelly, John Sergeant Minooka, Pa. 

§Hess, Earl Sergeant Berwick, Pa. 

§McCawley, John . . . .Sergeant Carbondale, Pa. 

§Vought, Reginald . .Sergeant Berwick, Pa. 

§Herlikofer, Howard. .Bugler Liberty St., Bethlehem, Pa. 

§Clapham, Chas Private Mifflinburg, Pa. 

§ Gilbert, Noble Private Silverdale, Pa. 

§ Jones, Albert Private Chambersburg, Pa. 

§Kem, Laird Private Slatington, Pa. 

§Lackhove, John . . . .Private Mercersburg, Pa. 

§McMonagle, Hugh . .Private 1726 Ingersoll Ave., Phila., Pa. 

Page Private Catawissa, Pa. 

§iSchuler, August . . . .Private R. 1. Red Hill, Pa. 

§ Shade, Chas Private Gratz, Pa. 

§Yoder, Chas Private Cowan, Pa. 

§Zimmerman, Geo. . .Private R. 1, Millmont, Pa. 



